


A Pizza My Heart and Other Terrible Puns

by lolamit



Category: The Book of Mormon - Ambiguous Fandom, The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: (but like a truly awful attempt), (kinda), Alternate Universe, Attempt at Humor, Bad Puns, Crack, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Food Trucks, M/M, New York City, Rivalry, Sexual Content, The Book of Arnold, bc Connor has the worst sense of humor, but like very PG don't get your hopes up, food truck au, there's gonna be minimal angst at least and to me that just says crack i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:55:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 95,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24120943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolamit/pseuds/lolamit
Summary: In the bustling concrete jungle that is New York City, there are opportunities around every corner. Dreams and wishes come true for some and crash and burn for others, and it is fair in the way life always is - completely coincidental and heavily privileged - as is the case for two young pioneers, who suddenly find their plots intertwining more and more as life passes them by.In which Kevin and Connor own rival food trucks and hate each other's guts
Relationships: Arnold Cunningham/Nabulungi Hatimbi, Elder "Connor" McKinley/Kevin Price
Comments: 183
Kudos: 99





	1. Little Shitaly

**Author's Note:**

> _Against the Grain_ \- Connor's POV
> 
>  _Slice of Life_ \- Kevin's POV

#### 

Little Shitaly

_Against the Grain  
May 11th  
1:42pm _

If someone had told Connor McKinley five years ago that he’d give up on his dream of becoming an actor on Broadway to open his very own vegan food truck, he would have laughed in their face. There had never been anything but theatre, anything but performing, and reinventing himself with every role he played, but then came life, like a kick to the head, and Connor had found he had quite the passion – and quite the talent, if he can say so himself – for food, as well.

It’s still bittersweet at times. Every once in a while, he’ll see an actor he recognizes, or someone he studied with at NYU who’s managed to make it to the big stage, and it still hits close to home, but he’s working through it, one quinoa bowl at a time. 

It might not be the most reputable or prestigious of professions, but it’s fun and exciting, he gets to meet new people all the time, and, best of all, he’s his own boss. Want to take a day off for personal reasons (Connor had quite a few of those, and he had them quite often)? No need to call in sick. Feel like staying out until four in the morning? Go for it, there’s no one to tell him no but himself. 

He does, most of the time, though, because as surprising as it sounds, Connor finds more pleasure in his work these days than he does getting wasted and picked up by that night’s hottest contender. Not that he never goes out, he just doesn’t do it quite as much as he used to, and perhaps it’s because he’s twenty-seven and tired of newly-turned-twenty-one-year-olds-who-scream-at-absolutely-everything-while-drunk, or perhaps it’s because he genuinely loves his job. Either way, he’s happy, and that hasn’t been the easiest thing to come by in Connor McKinley’s life, so he makes sure to savor every last moment, in case this happiness – as many others before it – decides to up and leave, without warning or mercy. 

He tries to stay positive most of the time, regardless of past struggles and looming disasters, he keeps a brave face and takes everything a day at a time, and if need be, an hour at a time. Or a minute, or, if it’s an especially trying day, a second. Whatever helps him through, he counts, reassesses, and starts over. 

The only problem is, that has proven itself to be particularly hard since a certain someone decided to park right next to him by Union Square. A certain someone who sells pizza dripping with grease and every type of coffee you could imagine. 

“You stole my spot.” Connor doesn’t bother turning around at the voice, knowing Kevin Price has no interest in buying anything, which gave Connor no reason to acknowledge him. “I was parked here yesterday, you were outside Barnes & Noble.”

It is with a heavy and exaggerated sigh that Connor finally turns around, meeting his latest rival’s eyes through the window and leaning down slightly to be more level with him. “Your name wasn’t on the concrete.”

Kevin isn’t amused, and that alone is enough to make Connor’s lips twitch upward. “It’s common decency, and you know it,” Kevin says, with just a hint of anger playing in his voice. “Give it back.”

“I’m not going to move my truck in the middle of the day. Try your luck tomorrow.”

“Your burritos are shit,” Kevin retaliates in a childish manner that Connor has learned to anticipate. 

“And your décor is tacky,” Connor counters, ready for battle if Kevin decides to throw down his gauntlet. “I mean, really, you sell pizza and the theme you go with is Little Italy?”

“I’m half Italian.”

“More like Little Shitaly, what with your cooking.” Connor has a terrible sense of humor that, yes, consists mainly of puns and jokes drier than the Sahara Desert, but he absolutely revels in the groans he usually gets in response. Kevin Price is no different.

“That’s terrible.” Kevin wrinkles his nose. “But I still want my spot back. Sephora brings more customers.”

“I don’t believe anyone who shops at Sephora would ever go near that grease you call food,” Connor taunts, as he notices two women approaching the truck. “Now, if you would please let me get back to work. I have customers, you should try it sometime.”

Kevin makes a show of rolling his eyes but retreats nonetheless, leaving Connor to greet the women and serve their orders. Two tofu burritos that Connor makes certain is not shit, because Kevin Price can say what he wants about Connor’s food, and it does not bother him the slightest. 

It just gets under his skin, like, a _tiny_ bit. 

The rest of the day goes by rather fast, and by the end of it, Connor finds himself agreeing with at least one thing Kevin had said earlier. He made nearly twenty percent more profit than he did yesterday when he was parked outside two spaces down. It pains him to even form the thought in his head, but maybe Kevin was right. Maybe Sephora is a hotspot for street food, or at the very least, more so than Barnes & Noble. 

It’s almost worth getting up two hours earlier tomorrow to secure the spot again, since he knows Kevin will most definitely be there an hour before opening, just to spite Connor, if anything. 

On second thought, it’s definitely worth it.

* * *

_Slice of Life  
May 12th  
7:08am_

It isn’t possible – _should_ not be possible – that the tofu-eating bastard has the nerve to steal his spot again. After he explicitly told him not to. Kevin Price is all for being a good sport, but this is just ridiculous. 

His truck has barely stopped moving when Kevin throws the door open, abandoning his keys stupidly in the ignition as he marches with determined steps toward the annoyingly chirpy man setting up his menu. 

“You’re in my spot,” he says through gritted teeth. “Again.”

Connor cocks an eyebrow, and if the look on his face is anything to go by, he is amused out of his mind. “Shoulda gotten here earlier.” 

“You don’t open for another hour,” Kevin points out, annoyed that he got here this early for nothing. “You’re never here before seven forty.”

Connor only shrugs, writing his specials on the blackboard beneath his serving window, and Kevin isn’t sure if it is the sound resembling nails on chalk or Connor’s indifferent reaction that sends him overboard. 

“Fuck you, McKinley,” he spits before turning on his heal. If he’s not getting his spot today either he might as well set up quickly to catch a few early birds on their way to work. 

“Good morning to you too, Price,” Connor says after him, and Kevin throws up a middle finger without looking. 

It is in poor taste, Kevin knows that better than anyone, but he finds himself reluctant to fight it a lot of the time. Especially with Connor McKinley, because there is no doubt in his mind that Connor McKinley is the single most irritating, obnoxious, hoity-toity vegan snob that the world has ever seen. So, he considers his actions justified, if not for himself then on behalf of the city of New York. It’s crass, but it keeps his temper mostly simmering. 

Kevin doesn’t have anger issues, per se. He simply has a myriad of repressed feelings that often manifest themselves in fits of rage or annoyance, in lieu of a better outlet. Kevin is still looking for one, but cooking helps to a degree, at least. 

He had always enjoyed it, ever since he was a kid and used to help out his mom in the kitchen. Or when he’d go to his grandparents for the weekend and his grandma would teach him a new recipe that he would then insist to make for three weeks straight at home, much to his parents’ dismay. But they had always encouraged him in this passion because at least it beat out a lot of other things Kevin was interested in. Boys, mainly, which his folks had been less excited about, and because Kevin has always been the certified good kid, great son, he had quickly sorted out which things made his parents proud and stuck to them like glue. 

Hence the food truck, if you ignore the fact that said food truck is currently parked by Union Square in New York, rather than Temple Square in Salt Lake City. Their relationship isn’t necessarily bad, Kevin just found his life got a lot easier when there were at least two thousand miles between them. 

Besides, it felt awkwardly unnatural to stay in his hometown after losing his faith. Being surrounded by Temples and Churches and the people who attended said Temples and Churches grew to be a constant reminder to Kevin that he was different, and wrong, in more senses than one. So, he did what any naïve twenty-year-old would do and moved to New York City with zero experience and virtually no economic stability. 

Boy, did that knock a sense of realism into him. 

At least he had Arnold, his best friend of ten years come July, who had always been by his side through whatever fever dream Kevin’s life had thrown at him. Arnold had been there for their mission training, the disgrace that was their mission, leaving the Church, realizing that Salt Lake City is boring as shit, moving across the country with no trace of a plan, picking up odd jobs in order to pay the rent for their studio apartment that barely fit two separate beds, finding and abandoning several interests – like that time Kevin thought he could be a stripper and quit his part-time employment at McDonald’s to try it out – before discovering something they were both individually adept at. In short, Arnold had been there for most of Kevin’s adult life, and he was, still is, beyond grateful to have such an incredible friend. 

It had taken them years to work up enough money to move into a bigger apartment, and then another couple of months and some funding from his parents before Kevin could invest in his very own, slightly run-down, food truck. Arnold had been there for opening day, just like Kevin had been to the opening night of Arnold’s first play, and it might have taken them longer than either had expected, but they are finally coming into their own, at twenty-seven and counting. Kevin doesn’t really mind; he knows this is only the beginning.

* * *

_Against the Grain_  
May 15th  
7:38pm 

It’s been a hectic week, unsurprisingly, and Connor for one is glad to have the night off. Granted, he had given himself the free time fully aware that he’s missing out on all those late-night snackers who usually turn up on Friday nights, either before or after they’ve drunken themselves to oblivion. Connor minds neither, because a paying customer is always welcome at Against the Grain, especially when the more inebriated ones compliment the very cute server behind the window. A drunken compliment is still a compliment, and Connor never turns down an opportunity for that sweet, sweet validation he often finds himself craving.

It’s even enough to keep him from noticing how Kevin’s truck gets way more traffic during those hours, and Connor blames this entirely on the food choices present. Even Connor, in an intoxicated state, would go for the greasiest pizza in sight rather than the more sophisticated option he himself offers. That’s all it boils down to, and no one could change his mind however how desperately they tried. 

This night, Kevin will get all the traffic, though, since Connor has promised Naba to see her on the opening night of her first show since moving to the city. It isn’t anything big, in fact, it’s smaller than Connor had even anticipated – and he had anticipated tiny – he realizes as he walks through the doors of the run-down theatre that seats just about a hundred people. 

There isn’t much of an audience there, anyway, or at least not as far as he can tell. Perhaps twenty? But then, he realizes some of the people in the lobby are actors talking to friends he assumes were forced to attend, so there really was no telling.

And then his eyes fall on a figure that is far too familiar, yet completely out of place, and it isn’t until the man turns around that Connor realizes just who he’s staring straight at. 

“No,” Kevin protests the second their eyes meet. “No, no way. This is my one night off, I am not spending it anywhere near you.” 

Connor can’t help but smile then, because Kevin is damn near throwing a hissy fit that would put any five-year-old to shame. “Good to see you too, Price.”

“What are you doing here?” Kevin practically whines when Connor walks up to stand beside him, and it is entertaining in the most annoying of ways. 

“I know one of the actors,” Connor says, shifting his weight to one foot as he looks Kevin up and down. The boy is wearing a suit, for God’s sake. “What’s your excuse?”

“I know the writer,” Kevin says, with a look on his face that radiates satisfaction as if he won the silent contest of who-knows-the-more-important-person. “He’s my best friend.” 

Connor laughs involuntarily because it is precisely this, this childlike manner that Kevin Price manages to somehow display whilst wearing a three-piece suit and smelling of cologne. It shouldn’t be possible, yet Connor’s eyes are not deceiving him this time, either. “I didn’t peg you for an artsy kind of guy,” he muses teasingly. “But then you’re wearing _that_ to some low-budget, obscure interactive play, so I’m not convinced you actually are.”

Kevin’s head turns at that, and his eyes somehow look simultaneously wider and narrower, as he stares Connor down. “Did you just say interactive?”

“Yeah?” Connor cocks an eyebrow in bemusement. “Didn’t you know the writer, surely that can’t come as a surprise?”

Kevin promptly shuts his mouth and turns away. “He didn’t tell me,” comes a hiss through gritted teeth. 

“Given your reaction, I’d guess he made the right call.” 

Kevin turns toward him again, no sign of amusement on his face, and though he opens his mouth in what Connor expects – _knows_ – is clear retaliation, no words are spoken. Connor considers teasing him, testing Kevin’s limits now that they’re on uncharted turf, but decides against it, as he’s afraid Kevin will storm out like the ill-tempered person he is, and that simply wouldn’t be fair to Kevin’s friend, who clearly wants him to be there. 

Instead, they stand in silence for a while. Connor isn’t certain why they’re still standing in the lobby, as most people had begun moving into the theatre considering the show is starting in ten minutes, but just as he’s about to break the weird tension, Kevin beats him to it. 

“Are we gonna have to participate?” he asks, and there is a sincerity in his voice that is completely, and rather shockingly, new to Connor. 

“Relax,” Connor laughs, softer this time. “Only if they pick you out of the crowd, and trust me, they rarely go for the surliest guy in the room.” 

“I’m not surly,” Kevin protests, but seems relieved by the news. “I just don’t like things that have no business being interactive to be interactive. It completely defeats the purpose, doesn’t it? I mean, they’re the actors, not us.” 

Connor lets out an amused breath but doesn’t counter with any of the pointed remarks weighing down his tongue. Kevin doesn’t need to know that he is – or rather was – an actor, after all. 

When Connor doesn’t answer, Kevin opts for the door instead and moves toward an empty seat on the second row. When Connor follows, however, Kevin is right back in his game. “You can’t sit there.” 

It nearly makes him laugh. “Free country, move over.” 

And the subsequent protests that roll out of the twenty-seven-year-old child sat next to him are soon quieted by the clearing of a throat. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” a man says, short and stout with unkempt, wild hair and a pair of statement glasses. “We are proud to present to you, for the first time ever – thanks to today’s sponsor, Audible – the Book of Arnold.” A brief pause, then hurriedly, “Not yet available on Audible, but get another book for free by using the code _bookofarnold_ , one word, no caps,” eliciting laughter from a few people in the crowd. 

Kevin groans uncouthly and it is thankfully quiet enough to go unnoticed by the man on the stage who disappears shortly after and then the lights dim, and Connor leans back in his seat. 

It isn’t bad, by any means, but it is by far the most… interesting thing Connor has ever seen. He was no stranger to the Mormon lifestyle, but this was, well, different. New. Innovative, in a way. A very twisted and slightly disturbing way, but it also had most of the audience crying with laughter, so who is Connor to judge, really. Besides, he finds even more amusement out of Kevin’s reactions to every scene, from Joseph Smith fucking a frog to Brigham Young having a clitoris for a nose, Kevin keeps sinking lower and lower in his seat until he’s practically laying down. 

“This is so offensive,” he whispers mostly to himself, rubbing his forehead with his hand, and it is in that moment that Connor realizes the night could get a million times more entertaining. 

The actors have already interacted with a few people throughout the show, and the next time he sees an opportunity, he catches Naba’s eyes as they search the crowd and nods his head in Kevin’s direction. Naba raises her eyebrows as if asking if he’s certain, and Connor nods enthusiastically. 

Kevin won’t know what hit him. 

“And now, all that remains is our very first baptism,” Naba says on stage, making a show of searching the crowd of equally excited and horrified spectators. “We shall find our first new member, but who? Who wants to join the Church of Latter-Day Taints, and seek the salvation of our God and Heavenly Daddy?” She makes her way toward the audience as she speaks, and Connor watches with excitement as she moves past the first row and toward the second, where she stops, a finger pointed toward none other than Kevin Price. “You, the man looking like he came straight from a funeral, you must join us.”

Kevin shakes his head profusely, pushing Connor toward the strange woman pointing at him, but Naba persists, and soon, Kevin can’t resist the cheering of the entirety of the sixty-three people in the audience, finding himself being led onto the stage. He looks like a stick with legs, barely moving if not prompted by one of the actors, and it might be the best thing Connor has ever seen.

“What is your name, fancy man?” another actor asks. 

“Kevin,” comes an answer followed by a forced cough. “Kevin Price.”

“Do you wish to join our Church, Kevin Price?”

“No,” Kevin protests characteristically and the audience eats it up, seemingly amused by Kevin’s obvious aversion, which only makes his frown grow more exaggerated. 

“Why not?” Naba asks, offering him the stuffed toy frog that’s been serving as the magical cure for AIDS during the show. 

“Because this is-“ Kevin starts but cuts himself off quite abruptly, his head turned toward the side of the stage, where Connor notices the man from the beginning peeking out. Kevin sighs but turns back to Naba with a smile. A strained smile, sure, but it’s a smile, nonetheless. “You know what, I’d be happy to join you.”

It isn’t the satisfaction of watching Kevin squirm out of discomfort that hits then, but rather the shock of seeing him – Connor barely believes it – comply with something he clearly does not enjoy. Kevin has always struck him as the arrogant, always-gets-his-way-or-else-he’ll-scream, kind of person, that wouldn’t put up with anyone toying with him, tossing him around like the butt of a truly terrible joke, yet here he is, proving precisely that assumption dead wrong. 

“Welcome, Elder Price,” Naba says after a very exaggerated baptism, where holy water had been replaced by vodka spiked La Croix. “You are now a Latter-Day Taint, the next best thing to a real Mormon.” 

Kevin takes a swig of the vodka, kisses the frog, and bows, before speaking a “Tomorrow is a latter day,” which earns a cheer from the audience and cast alike. It’s almost endearing, in a way Connor isn’t sure how to describe. Especially as the show ends shortly after, and the man from the beginning – Connor has realized now is the writer – emerges from the side of the stage to join them, and the look on Kevin’s face is nothing short of proud. It amazes him, although he’d never admit it, how much Kevin must love his best friend to go from total and unyielding reluctance to embracing the situation with just one look. He hadn’t had the heart to not to play along, and it would be absolutely admirable, if it weren’t for everything else about him that Connor finds positively unbearable.

Still, they get a standing ovation, and sure, there may have only been sixty-something people there, but the cheering is loud and the clapping enthused, and it feels, at that moment, a lot bigger than it probably is. 

Hell, even Kevin is smiling, which speaks volumes considering the circumstance, and Connor offers a wolf-whistle as encouragement, which Kevin – _of course_ – responds with an eye-roll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may not have gotten this idea from Anna Kendrick's storyline in What To Expect When You're Expecting. I have zero regrets. 
> 
> I hope you liked it, and please leave a comment if you'd like to read more! I just really fell in love with this idea but might put it on hold if no one is interested (considering I have wips to finish etc etc). 
> 
> Otherwise, kudos are always appreciated, too. Thank you for reading!
> 
> (Also, for some most irritating reason I can't seem to get the italics on the last POV thingy. I've tried several times and it just keeps going back to normal, but then it is nearly 6am so my brain might be to fault here)


	2. You're the One That I Taunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Against the Grain_ \- Connor's POV
> 
>  _Slice of Life_ \- Kevin's POV

#### 

You're the One That I Taunt

_Slice of Life  
May 15th  
10:27pm_

If there’s one thing tonight has made very certain for Kevin it is that no matter how uncomfortable being on a stage makes him, he’s surprisingly good at it. Not that he’s comparing himself to the actual actors present – although he still couldn’t see the point in casting professionally trained actors if they’re only going to pull people out of the audience all the time – but there had been something that felt that quite natural, being among them. 

It is possible that had been mostly thanks to the vodka, though.

Once the show ends, Kevin joins Arnold backstage, as most of the actors go to talk to the people they had invited or to get changed. He can’t help but notice how the woman who had pulled him onto the stage goes to greet Connor, and for some reason it sticks in his mind, nagging his brain into thinking what a curious coincidence that the actor who picked him out from the crowd knew Connor McKinley. 

He decided – quite uncharacteristically, too – not to dwell on it, and the second he walks into what he assumes is the writer’s room, his head finds other things to focus on, anyway. There are pieces of the script scattered most everywhere, with scribbles and notes in different colors all over them. Kevin picks one up, and immediately recognizes his best friend’s handwriting. A messy and nearly unreadable note saying _idk if we’re allowed to but we’re gonna baptize whoever with vodka_ , followed by a scribble in red ink saying _or can we get sued for that??? let’s stick to la croix for now_ , and Kevin can’t help but smile because the holy water he’d been offered had most certainly contained two-thirds alcohol. 

He still isn’t one hundred percent certain how he’d not realized just how insane the play Arnold had been writing would be, considering they live together and Kevin had read a couple of the first drafts. He would have helped more, read later drafts, and helped edit, too, had his life not suddenly been disrupted by the most aggravating individual Kevin has ever had the displeasure to meet.

Speak of the devil as a moment later, the door opens, and in comes Connor in tow after the woman who had gone to greet him after the show. Arnold shoots up from his seat to greet her with a hug, as Kevin makes the mistake of letting his eyes glide over to Connor, who flashes him a smile that Kevin briefly returns before remembering how he had stolen Kevin’s spot two days in a row, and so he opts for a disgruntled eye-roll instead. Connor counters with a quiet scoff. 

Arnold and Naba are busy raving about how well the show had gone, and how despite a few technical issues and not filling the entire theatre, everything had worked out and people seemed to be enjoying the performance. It takes just a few moments too many before either of them seem to remember they both have company, and Arnold makes a show – although he doesn’t mean to, it’s just how Arnold reacts to most things – of gesturing to Kevin. “Oh, I almost forgot! This is Kevin, my bestie!” he says, and Kevin feels dumb, as if he couldn’t even introduce himself. “This is Nagasaki.” 

“Nabulungi,” the woman corrects Arnold who just answers with a sheepish grin. “But you can call me Naba.”

“Nice to meet you, Naba,” Kevin smiles, and that deep-seated Mormon charm manages to seep through his lips more than he intends. “You were great tonight.” 

The woman laughs and it somehow makes the room brighter. “Thank you,” she says, an appreciative look in her eyes that morphs into something resembling guilt then. “And I am so sorry for dragging you onstage. I felt so bad, you looked like a scared puppy.” 

Kevin isn’t sure how to respond and lets out an amused breath that he fears sounds more like a scoff. “No, no, that’s, um.” A stifled laugh from behind Naba catches his attention for a millisecond, but he chooses to ignore Connor despite the fire that sparks inside him. “I just didn’t expect it.” 

“I don’t think anyone did,” Connor mumbles sarcastically, but it’s loud enough for all of them to hear, and Kevin is convinced it was deliberate. He is one smirk away from getting a black eye, and no, Kevin does _not_ have anger issues, thank you very much. 

“Oh, you’re one to talk,” Naba says before Kevin can act on any impulses. “It was your idea.” 

_What._

It all happens within the fragment of a second, how Connor shoots Naba a glance that so clearly reads oh-my-god-he-wasn’t-supposed-to-know-that, how Naba covers her mouth instinctively yet fails miserably to hide her smile, how Arnold utters a dragged out and whispered _ohhhhnooo_ , and lastly, how Kevin’s blood begins to boil as he narrows his eyes. 

“Really?” he drawls to which Connor rolls his eyes.

“I may have nudged her in your direction,” he shrugs, all cool, calm, and collected that makes Kevin see red. “Since you were enjoying the show _so_ greatly.” 

Kevin shakes his head, because this, this is exactly the kind of bullshit, high and mighty nonsense he expects from Connor, and the fact that he acts so casual, as if nothing he does should be cause for consequences, only makes it worse. 

“You are such an ass,” Kevin laughs despite himself, and he’s not certain if it comes out cruel or entertained because there is steam pouring out of his ears, blocking his hearing, but he hopes it conveys the fervid flame that burns so, so brightly in his chest. 

Connor seems to have taken it differently, though. “Oh please, you loved it.” 

“That’s not the point, the point is you’re an ass who should let other’s decide things for themselves.” 

“Oh, like how you _decided_ I was parked in your spot three days ago?” Connor scoffs. “As if you _own_ the streets, what are you, the fucking mayor?”

“The mayor doesn’t own the streets, Jesus, you really are as dumb as you look.” 

“Yeah, well at least I don’t have to be parked outside Sephora to attract customers, you know, my food does that for me.” 

“Please, your food is bland as shit, and you just think people should put on this pedestal for being vegan. Well, news flash, McKinley, no one cares.”

“Have you looked in a fucking mirror-“

“So, we’re gonna head out for a drink,” Naba interrupts then, and it is first now Kevin realizes both she and Arnold had left the room. “Will you boys join us, or do you wanna continue this pissing contest alone?” 

Kevin is still fuming, and he can see Connor fighting the urge to finish his sentence, clenching his jaw as he turns to Naba. “I could use a shot,” he says, shooting a rather pointed look back in Kevin’s direction. “Or ten.”

He returns the glare as he considers his options. He could go with them, have a decent night out instead of watching reruns of Seinfeld alone, or he could go home, order a pizza and catch up on some well-needed sleep (after watching reruns of Seinfeld alone).

It’s a bad decision, Kevin knows, but he makes it anyway.

* * *

_Against the Grain  
May 15th  
11:45pm_

Connor may not go out as much as he used to, but tonight has been especially tiring, what with Kevin being the pissbaby that he is and annoying the living hell out of Connor save for the brief moment where he had actually found himself admiring the bastard. Just because he can put at least one person’s feelings above his own doesn’t mean he’s a decent person. In fact, Connor has met five-year-olds with better manners. 

Still, he finds himself at a karaoke bar with three tequila shots and two raspberry mojitos pumping through his veins and it seems, in that moment at least, that Kevin is slightly more bearable. Granted, he’s still obnoxious and loud, but he’s obnoxious and loud in a way that doesn’t drive Connor up the wall. Besides, his focus seems to land on everybody but Connor, and though he takes this as a personal win, it’s simultaneously infuriating how much of social butterfly Kevin appears to be. It doesn’t make sense, Kevin is the grouch that gets upset about the smallest inconveniences, not the person who suddenly gets along with everyone, and Connor can’t help but overanalyze every minor thing Kevin does. 

After a while, he notices that even though Kevin acts like the life of the party, it is painfully obvious that he’s looking for validation in the attention he’s attracting. He needs people to laugh and want to be near him, and for a second, Connor wonders if it’s only with him Kevin doesn’t get on. 

The thought picks at his brain until he manages to tear his eyes away and head over to the bar. Naba goes with him, and he orders a third mojito, flirting harmlessly with the bartender in the hopes of eluding the bill. He’s not even sure if the guy is gay, but the way he smiles at Connor’s incredibly indiscreet advances, he considers his chances fairly good. 

That is until he hears a very familiar voice pour through the speakers, and his attention is needed elsewhere.

“Is that-“ He doesn’t even allow himself to finish the sentence before his eyes find the stage, and sure enough, an obnoxiously loud and positively drunk Kevin Price is holding the microphone in his left hand and a beer in his right, and he’s _singing_. “No fucking way.”

It’s not just the surprise of seeing him on a second stage for the night when he’d been so obviously uncomfortable on the first one or the fact that his voice sounds better than Connor would ever admit, and it isn’t the song choice either – although it definitely grinds his gears – it’s just the way Kevin manages to defy every box Connor has placed him in, as if he’s only a dick and a half at work, or more specifically, at work when Connor is there. 

“He’s can _sing_ ,” Naba says, nudging Connor with her elbow as she sips on her cosmo.

“You’re not supposed to be good at karaoke, why’s he showing off?” Connor crosses his arms as he watches Kevin on stage. “And why did he go with Amy Winehouse, what’s that all about?”

Sure, Valerie is a great song, and Amy Winehouse a brilliant artist, but that’s for him to know and Kevin to not. 

_“Since I’ve come home, well my body’s been a mess,”_ Kevin sings and Naba joins him for the next part, with a teasing nudge to Connor’s side. _“And I miss your ginger hair and the way you like to dress.”_

“Shut up.” Connor ignores her wiggling eyebrows, grabs his drink, and leaves her to pay. He’ll make it up to her when he’s not fighting the urge to punch someone. 

_“Won’t you come on over, stop making a fool out of me.”_ Kevin has no right hitting every note, and he definitely has no right making eye-contact with Connor for the next part. _“Why don’t you come on over, Valerie.”_

He has no right to look good during the whole thing either, for that matter. 

Naba finds it incredibly amusing, of course, and gives Connor far too suggestive looks and nods in Kevin’s direction that Connor answers with increasingly louder groans, while Arnold continuously asks her what’s so funny. Connor shoots her a warning in the form of a death glare and thankfully, Naba knows which lines are okay to cross and which should be left alone, and comes up with an explanation to soothe Arnold’s curiosity. 

Arnold is a character, Connor has grown to understand during the few hours he’s known the guy. He’s funny, easygoing, and absolutely animated in a way Connor finds hilarious. And what’s more intriguing is his relationship with Kevin Price. They’re so different, yet awfully similar in the sense of being loud, only Arnold is loud out of excitement while Kevin is so out of arrogance, and still they seem like two peas in a pod, finishing each other’s sentences and knowing what the other is thinking without them giving so much as a look. It’s almost sweet, but only from Arnold’s part because Connor refuses to think of Kevin Price as anything but insufferable. 

Yet the longer he watches Kevin up on that stage, there is a part of him that enjoys seeing this side of Kevin, a side that feels most secret and almost intimate. Kevin’s sweating when he returns to the table, and his hair sticking to his forehead is gross and not at all attractive. 

“You can sing,” Connor states as Kevin takes another swig of his beer. 

Kevin’s eyes are challenging as he chuckles. “Yeah.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Why not?” Kevin asks, lips curling into a smile and everything in that moment is backward and upside-down. Connor is the one who teases; Kevin is the grump that lets him. “Because I beat you at everything, singing included?”

“Please,” Connor scoffs. “I am a way better singer.” 

“The crowd begs to differ, McKinley.” 

And the impulse he would have kept firmly enclosed escapes in his drunken state as he hiccups out a bad idea with a minty aftertaste. “Do a duet with me.”

Kevin does a doubletake, his eyes narrowing as he stares Connor down. “What?”

“Do a duet with me,” Connor repeats and puts on his best confident face. 

“Why the hell would I do that?” 

“Do a duet with me,” Connor says, slower this time as he leans forward on his elbows, “so we can find out, once and for all, who the better singer is.”

Kevin’s face lightens then, his lips twitching upward as he cocks an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge, McKinley?”

Connor shrugs. “Only if you have the balls to accept.”

Bewildered amusement plays dangerously across Kevin’s face as he considers the proposal. “Oh, it’s on,” comes the answer that sets Connor’s insides on fire. Out of rage, obviously. He is one hundred percent annoyed and irritated, and zero percent hot and bothered. “But I’m picking the song.”

Connor lets him, because he knows that whatever ace Kevin thinks he can pull from his sleeve, Connor has a straight flush to match it. He graduated from NYU with a Bachelor of Arts, after all. 

He hasn’t performed in years, though, nevermind with someone he can’t stand, so he fears he’ll be rusty enough to give Kevin half a chance. 

As he grabs one of the microphones, the music starts and his heart stops for a beat as his eyes flicker over to Kevin. The guy has the nerve to smirk, as he begins singing, claiming the male role before Connor can even process what’s happening. 

_“I’ve got chills, they’re multiplying, and I’m losing control.”_ How dare he pick a showtune, how dare he pick a _romantic_ showtune. How dare he look at Connor like _that_ as he sings _electrifying_ in the most exaggerated way Connor can imagine. He’s really giving John Travolta a run for his money. 

_“You better shape up, ‘cause I need a man,”_ Connor plays along. If this is the kind of game Kevin wants then Connor will make sure to win by a landslide. _“And my heart is set on you.”_

There’s a smile on Connor’s lips that surely matches the smirk on Kevin’s, and he’ll never say it out loud, but he’s sort of, in a completely surreal way, enjoying himself, and it seems that Kevin is, too. Besides, their voices go really well together, like, ridiculously well, and Connor isn’t sure if that makes him more angry or surprised, if he’s completely honest.

Kevin takes the chorus as an opportunity to grab Connor’s free hand and twirl him around, and for the briefest of moments, a laugh slips past Connor’s lips. Before he remembers this is a competition; before he remembers Kevin is trying to win. 

Connor will have none of that, and after all, You’re the One That I Want is Sandy’s time to shine. Any chance Kevin had forgotten, he’s about to be sorely reminded of that. 

_“If you’re filled with affection, you’re too shy to convey,”_ he untangles himself from Kevin’s grip as he sings, moving across the stage, and turning back around, a beckoning finger pointed Kevin’s way. _“Meditate in my direction, feel your way.”_

Kevin, much to Connor’s satisfaction, complies, and it feels like the sort of cat and mouse game that will cause them nothing but trouble, but Connor decides, against his better judgment, to ignore the feeling for now. When Kevin reaches him, Connor turns away, looking out over the crowd and making sure to catch as many eyes as possible while completely ignoring the ones accompanying him onstage. 

It works like a charm, if what Connor wants is for Kevin to fight for his attention, and he’s not entirely convinced he does, but he’s sure as hell enjoying it. Not to mention the rush of electricity that comes when skin touches skin. It’s an intimacy Connor hasn’t felt for a while, and though he knows better than to indulge, he welcomes the sensation a little too eagerly. 

Just in case Kevin has caught onto exactly how much Connor enjoys what’s happening, he makes sure to keep his focus on the crowd, making eyes at anyone he catches watching and only interacts with Kevin to a bare minimum. That proves itself especially difficult, though, when Kevin decides personal space is no longer a necessity and is suddenly pressing himself against Connor’s back, eliciting the tiniest hitch in his breath that he hopes goes unnoticed. Kevin proceeds to catch his free hand again and – curse him for having such soft hands –spins him around so Connor has no choice but to face him, although he’d much rather be staring at the smokeshow by the bar. 

Connor had barely noticed, but suddenly the music stops and the song is over, scattered applause and the occasional cheer from the people in the bar – or from Arnold, more specifically – fills the room and yet Connor pays it no attention because he can sort of smell the alcohol on Kevin’s breath and their hands are still touching. It suddenly feels a hundred degrees, and Kevin’s hair is sticking to his forehead again, and it is still revolting but in a way that makes Connor’s cheeks heat and he can’t turn away if he so wanted to. 

And he wants to. Badly. 

“I win,” Kevin breaks the tension first, with a shit-eating grin on his face and pride an invisible yet heavy crown on his head. 

Connor laughs, and it sounds rather surprised than mocking, although not for lack of trying. “Are you kidding?” he breathes. Why is he so out of breath? “I had you beat seconds in and you know it.” 

Kevin’s expression shows no sign of defeat, and his voice no trail of acquiescence. “In your dreams, McKinley,” he says before he turns and heads down from the stage, leaving Connor to deal with not only the confusion of being so close to Kevin Price without wanting to bash his head in but the irritation itching at his brain, that maybe, he had lost the moment he started enjoying himself, too. 

Instead of overthinking it – which he already does to a fault – he huffs an exasperated breath as he gets off the stage, heading straight for the bar to refill his sobering head with as much alcohol it took to ease his thoughts. As he waits for the bartender to prepare his drink, he looks around, hoping to spot the guy who’s eyes he’d caught from the stage, but instead, his gaze finds Naba making her way over with a far too suggestive smirk on her lips.

“So, that was hot,” she says as she reaches him, eyes teasing. 

“Why, thank you. I’m here all night,” Connor quips, ignoring the blatant implication, and she offers a knowing eye-roll in response.

“Kevin is quite the looker, huh?” she persists, while Connor turns to pay for his drink.

“Hmm,” Connor shrugs, a sorely failed attempt at sounding unfazed. “I hadn’t noticed.” 

“All this time you’ve been describing him as the greased-up loser who keeps accusing you of stealing his customers, and not once have you mentioned he’s a fucking ten,” she laughs, poking Connor’s side with her elbow. 

“Oh, please,” Connor groans, not one bit interested in how good looking or not Kevin Price is. “He’s a Chicago eight at best.” Okay, perhaps a _little_ interested, but only to prove Naba wrong.

Naba raises her eyebrows, giving him a look that is somehow simultaneously bored and amused. “He’s sex on legs, Con.” 

Connor rolls his eyes with a scoff. “Then why don’t _you_ ask him out?” 

“Because he didn’t ask me to sing a sexually charged song with him, he asked you.” 

“Okay, first of all, it was a showtune, so that’s essentially the polar opposite of sexy, unless we’re talking Catherine Zeta-Jones in fishnets,” Connor says while Naba fights to refrain from laughing. “And second of all, he didn’t ask me, I asked him.” 

That stops her from giggling for a brief second, and her eyes widen as her expression morphs into surprised intrigue. “You asked him?” she asks, with an implying smile playing across her face. 

“Oh, shut up.” 

“So, you _do_ like him.” 

“I do not,” Connor is quick to ensure. “I hate him with a burning passion.” 

Naba smirks, an eyebrow cocked as she takes a sip of her drink. “All I heard was ‘burning passion’.” 

Connor scoffs as he downs the rest of his mojito, his throat burning slightly as he turns around to order another when Naba stops him with a gentle, yet firm hand.

“I think you’ve had enough, babe,” she smiles and the automatic pout that appears on Connor’s lips stands no chance against a determined Nabulungi, so he gives in with a defeated sigh. 

They sit at the bar for a while, the conversation spiraling as Naba challenges Connor’s belief that showtunes are inherently unsexy by bringing up every time she’d had to listen to him moon over an actor after a show, or someone from their class at NYU who just happened to make eye-contact with him while performing Santa Fe, and it’s as difficult as always trying to prove Naba wrong when he knows she’s not. He loves that about her, though, loves that she doesn’t take shit from anyone, not even a close friend, loves that she points out when he’s being irrational or downright dumb, which happens more than he’d ever care to admit. He loves that despite his many flaws, she’s still there, ready to forgive and encourage with both wisdom and tough love. Connor doesn’t have a lot of those kinds of people in his life, save for his sister, but she isn’t around much these days anyway. 

After a while, he realizes his attention has shifted elsewhere and acknowledges it with a heavy sigh. “He’s horrible,” he says, eyes idly watching Kevin dance by the front of the stage. “I don’t know why he’s all fun and games tonight, he’s literally the worst. You should see him at work.” 

“You think it’s the alcohol?” Naba suggests and Connor considers it before he shrugs simply. 

“Maybe,” he ponders. “It’s kinda sad if it is, though.”

Naba hums in agreement, before letting out a small laugh. “It’s so weird to think he’s the same guy that Arnold talks about all the time,” she smiles. “He’s always going on about how great he is, and I just can’t believe that it’s the same person you keep complaining about.”

Connor can’t help but laugh. If tonight has been anything to go by, Arnold seems to see all the things about Kevin that drive Connor up the wall as endearing, and that simply doesn’t make any sense at all.

“I don’t get their friendship,” Connor says with a furrowed brow. “Arnold seems like a nice guy, why’s he so attached to that clown?” He nods in Kevin’s direction, and there might not be anything particularly odd about the scene in front of them but there is something utterly unnatural in seeing Kevin smile like that, as if he’s got no cares in the world.

“They’ve known each other for a decade,” Naba says, following Connor’s gaze with her own. “I honestly think they’re more like family now, you know? And you love family despite the differences.” 

“That’s debatable,” Connor says through an amused breath, and Naba leans her head against his shoulder in consolation. “It must be an act or something. I don’t buy that he’s like this at all, it’s not possible.” 

Naba sits back up with a laugh. “He’s a damn good actor in that case. Coulda fooled me.” 

“I take it back. He might be a decent singer but there’s no way he can act.”

“You say that,” Naba says, that knowing look returning to her face as she watches Kevin. “But if he really hates you as much as you think, he did a pretty good job of hiding it on stage before.” 

“Please, that doesn’t count,” Connor says while shooting her a bored glance. “He was trying to outdo me, he couldn’t do that while staring daggers.” 

“Yeah, well, you just say that because you were too preoccupied making bedroom eyes at every guy in the crowd.” Naba bumps their shoulders together with a smile. “But take it from someone who actually watched the entire thing, he didn’t take his eyes off you _once_.”

Connor doesn’t bother turning to face her, as he knows she can already tell he’s about to roll his eyes. “Bite me.”

“I’m sure he will,” Naba teases and Connor’s cheeks are getting dangerously hotter by the minute, so he decides to shoot up from his seat so that maybe, she won’t notice too much. “Oh, come on, Con, I’m just messing with you!”

He turns back around with a badly concealed smile and positively red cheeks as he points a finger in warning. “Kevin Price is not my type,” he says with conviction. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go flirt with someone who is.”

Naba waves him off with a hearty laugh. “Be careful,” she calls after him, and Connor responds with a half-turn and an “Always am,” followed by a thumbs up, as he’s off to find someone to take his mind off things.

* * *

_Slice of Life  
May 15th  
1:34am_

Kevin is positively drunk. So much so that the room is starting to spin just a little as he walks through the crowd of people smelling of sweat and alcohol, which would usually make him gag but doesn’t even faze him right now. He doesn’t do this often. Hell, he hasn’t been drunk for nearly two years, and it’s a weird nostalgia that he has sort of missed and dreaded all at once. It’s warm and inviting, still cold to the touch, like a good memory poisoned by bad connotations. 

But despite the slight nausea and occasional vertigo, he’s enjoying himself in a way he thought he couldn’t anymore. He’s spoken to more people tonight alone than he has in the past year if you exclude his customers at work, and most of them have been kind and receptive, not at all as terrible as he’s otherwise convinced all people are. Arnold may have been right about him needing new friends, but that’s a problem for another bridge-

Wait, that’s not right. 

Before he has time to rethink whatever thought he was trying to process, he spots Connor at a table. Alone, which means the guy he’s been cozying up to all night must have- Oh, no, he was just getting them drinks and now he’s back, that makes sense, yeah. 

It takes him a beat too long to realize he’s staring, and it takes a suspicious look from Connor before he turns around and heads back into the crowd again. So, Connor likes blonds. Connor likes guys who don’t do karaoke despite being in a karaoke bar. Not that it matters, not to Kevin, at least. Not at all, nope, nix, no chance, _no way, I won’t say it-_

“You alright, buddy?” Arnold catches his arm and subsequently his attention. “You look a little lost.”

Kevin smiles and nods his head. “I’m good, yeah. Don’t let me buy another drink, though.”

“Not a problem, my guy,” Arnold laughs and gestures for him to sit down beside him. “We were just talking about the worst karaoke songs and-“

“ _And_ Arnold seems to think Ice Ice Baby is still a dignified choice,” Naba interrupts with a laugh, while Arnold feigns hurt. 

“It’s not that bad!” he defends, arms in the air, nearly tipping over his beer in the process.

Kevin can’t help but laugh because it doesn’t surprise him one bit that Arnold would have a controversial opinion on something so trivial as karaoke songs. He’d honestly be more worried the day Arnold _doesn’t_. “Oh, Arn, that’s terrible.” 

“See, even Winehouse agrees with me!” Naba claps her hands together in triumph and Kevin considers telling her off for calling him _Winehouse_ but finds he surprisingly quite likes it. “You can’t pick a rap song, and more importantly, you cannot pick _that_ rap song, if it even qualifies as one.”

“But it’s ironic,” Arnold tries, but is soon shut down by everyone at the table and concedes with a laugh. “Fine, but you’re all missing out, just saying.”

“Woe is me, Arnie,” Naba exaggerates a distressed sigh that Kevin could swear almost made Arnold blush. 

Kevin leans back in his chair as the conversation carries on, and he takes a moment to just think. Just be, and just exist, without consequence or implication, simple and plain. It leaves a sour taste in his mouth, but then again, that might just be the acid reflux of his sudden and overindulgent alcohol consumption. 

In a way, he feels relieved. Because he knows that everything will be back to normal in less than seven hours, and nowadays, normal for Kevin is simple and plain. The only kicks he gets, his tug of war with Connor McKinley, and he is perfectly content that way. At the very least it beats working dead-end jobs that still leave him broke. At the very least he’s moderately happy like this. 

The clock is nearing 2am when everyone decides to head home, and Kevin once again spots Connor sitting at a table. Alone, and this time he doesn’t care whether the guy he’s been chatting with has truly left or is just grabbing their coats, so he walks over. 

“Whatcha drinking?” he tries to sound as casual as humanly possible, but the words feel odd and clunky in his mouth.

Connor lifts his head up with a glance that turns amused the moment he meets Kevin’s eyes. “I’ll tell you if you buy me one.”

Kevin can’t help but laugh, and he’s surprised to see Connor offer a smile in response. It should feel more forced than it is, it should feel weird and foreign being decent to one another, and it tugs at his brain just a bit too much to ignore. “You called my bluff, I don’t really care,” he says, with a more routinely bite that comes as naturally as the morning. 

Connor’s face remains amused, but there’s a trace of annoyance in his eyes that feels familiar in all the wrong ways. “Fuck off, Price.”

Kevin sits down. “So are you going home with that guy?”

Connor follows his nod toward the guy stood at the bar – where he seems to be quite a lot – and turns back with a smile playing on his lips. “If he asks nicely.”

Kevin ignores the curiosity in Connor’s eyes and turns his head back toward the bar, staring down the man who seems awfully dull and boringly handsome. His favorite book is doubtlessly a classic and he probably collects stamps. Not that Kevin cares, it just bugs him that that’s the kind of person Connor would go for. Connor may be Kevin’s sworn enemy and a constant pain in his ass, but he’s not boring, and that’s that. 

“Why do you ask?” Connor pries when Kevin doesn’t say anything. “Were you thinking of asking him yourself?”

“Oh, he’s all yours,” Kevin reassures with a tired glare. “I just didn’t think you gave no fucks about your job, is all.”

Connor narrows his eyes and it fits him like butter on toast. “I’ll have you know I give plenty of fucks. Doesn’t mean I can’t get some, too, though.”

“You open in six hours.”

“And sex only takes me one,” Connor grins a challenge that Kevin is tempted to take on. “Maybe two, if he’s lucky.”

“You’re despicable.”

“And you’re wasted.”

Kevin can’t argue with that, but that’s never stopped him before. “Yeah, well, at least I’m gonna go home, get a few good hours of sleep and show up to work on time,” he counters, crossing his arms as he waits for Connor’s retaliation. 

“I’ll bet you right here, right now, that I’ll not only be there earlier than you,” comes his rebuttal, teasing to the tone and with confident eyes, “but I’ll feel a lot better, too.”

Now that, if anything, is a challenge, and Kevin is more than eager to accept. “You’re on.”

* * *

_Slice of Life_  
_May 16th_  
_8:24am_

Kevin is positively hungover, and he knows that because he spent the better half of the morning trying to force a slice of plain toast down his throat without feeling as though he’d be sick. By the time he’d managed to swallow at least half of it, he had already been late and decided he might as well just take a minute to get his head on straight before heading out the door. 

This is why he doesn’t drink. Because a few hours of uncensored fun isn’t worth a day of paying the price, and most certainly not when that price is accompanied by hours of social interactions. 

Still, he makes it out by eight and parks by Union Square twenty minutes later, and much to his disdain, he can’t help but notice Connor’s truck already parked over by Sephora 

That son of a bitch. 

With a sigh, he turns off the ignition and steps out. It’s strangely hot for being mid-May, and it doesn’t help his throbbing head one bit, but he’ll power through. If not because he needs the money, then for the sole reason of spiting Connor. 

As he begins setting up shop, he catches the sight of red hair and isn’t surprised to see his rival leaning out of his serving window with what could only be described as a shit-eating grin on his face, and it’s defeat in its purest form. Unfair yet somehow called for.

He shoots a warning glare through tinted sunglasses that he has no doubt reaches Connor either way. 

“Not a word, McKinley.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having way too much fun writing this, it really is a nice break from both angst and assignments, if you disregard the fact that I have a deadline coming up on the latter. Welp. 
> 
> Sorry that Kevin's parts are so short btw, I don't know why but Connor is easier to write this way, but I'll work on that. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Kudos and comments are appreciated and welcome, and if you have any ideas I am always open for suggestions! 
> 
> Stay safe and all that jazz


	3. Donald O'Connor McKinley

#### 

Donald O'Connor McKinley

_Against the Grain  
May 25th   
8:12pm _

It’s been over a week since their drunken karaoke performance. A week since Kevin turned the tables and defied everything Connor had chalked him up to be. A week since the hateful glares were briefly exchanged with intrigued glances. Yet that week has not been any different than the many before it. 

Even though Connor caught Kevin’s eyes on him a bit more often, he couldn’t say the way they were watching him was out of the ordinary. In fact, Kevin almost seemed angrier now than he had before, and they barely interacted in anything but looks. The occasional comment about stealing customers or selling shitty food still occurred, but there was a new bite to it that quite frankly didn’t sit very well with Connor. It was beginning to upset him more than he’d ever care to admit. 

Kevin Price has that effect on people. 

Connor has just finished closing up when he spots Naba approaching with Arnold by her side. He shoots a quick glance at the truck parked a few spots down to find Kevin’s eyes averting as soon as they meet Connor’s. It’s dumb, but Connor can’t help the twitch in his lips. 

They make no effort to ease the tension. Normal people might have met halfway, compromising their rivalry for the sake of their friends, but they aren’t normal people. They are Kevin Price and Connor McKinley; polar counterparts and lifelong adversaries. The same side of two magnets that causes them to push each other away. 

Or perhaps they do that of their own accord. 

Naba and Arnold stop a few feet away, still talking about something that’s just slightly out of earshot as both Connor and Kevin wait at their respective trucks. It feels like an unspoken standoff, the kind where people stand on either side of an unsuspecting dog to see who it prefers. As if they’re both waiting for either defeat or victory, only one of them can have both, or both can have neither. It’s an impasse of pride more than anything. Connor knows Kevin is too proud to give in, and he’d be lying if he said he isn’t, too. But the thing about making someone choose – be it a best friend or a canine – is that despite rules or unspoken pledges, the one with a bone in their pocket will always be crowned the winner. 

The only problem was, Connor isn’t sure who has that upper hand. 

A moment later, Naba and Arnold share a hug before going to meet their respective friends, and order is restored once more. 

“You could’ve come said hello, you know,” Naba smiles as she pulls him in for a hug. 

“I didn’t wanna impose.” 

“You wouldn’t be imposing,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You’d just be polite.” 

Connor concedes with a trying apology that Naba only answers with a knowing smile. “To be fair,” Connor says, indiscreetly gesturing to his left where Arnold and Kevin are stood, “he didn’t do anything either.” 

“So you’re both rude,” she grins. “What else is new?” 

“I am not rude, Miss Hatimbi,” Connor counters with feigned hurt. “I’ll have you know my parents didn’t raise me that way.” 

“Yeah, well, your parents didn’t raise you to be in an unfounded dick-measuring contest with the guy of your dreams, either.” 

Connor screws his face up in distaste which only makes Naba laugh. “Can we not talk about his dick, please. I might vomit.” 

“I thought you trained away your gag reflex.” 

“How dare you,” Connor scowls, but finds it immensely difficult to hide the amused look on his face. Naba’s raised eyebrows eventually wear him down and he gives in to a laugh leaving his lips in a rather bubbly fashion that nearly makes his cheeks burn bright red. 

“You ready to go?” Naba asks when he doesn’t elaborate, and Connor only nods in response, getting in the driver’s seat as he notices Arnold and Kevin had already left. 

They drive back to their apartment in East Flatbush with the music blasting, singing along the same way they always do – way too loudly and deliberately off-key. It makes for some very interesting takes on their favorite cast recordings and appeases the terrible sense of humor they were both guilty of entertaining. 

It isn’t especially big, their apartment, but at least it has two separate bedrooms and a nearly complete kitchen. What’s missing is the microwave Connor, in a slightly too intoxicated state, accidentally ruined by putting his phone inside it instead of his food. Not his proudest moment, but it has served as a decent icebreaker on numerous occasions, believe it or not. 

It isn’t much, no, but it’s theirs and they love it. After a year of living in a dorm, neither of them could stand the communal showers and insufferable roommates, so they decided to get their own place instead. Money had been tight for at least a year, but they both worked themselves to the bone, and eventually, things were stable enough. Not so much that they had thousands to spare, but enough to make ends meet without feeling the weight of three jobs and college on their shoulders. 

After fourteen months of toiling they had both finally had a night off at the same time and instead of spending it getting drunk at a club or relaxing at home, they had learned the entire choreography to Good Morning from Singin’ in the Rain, and laughed way too hard when Naba had pointed out that Donald O’Connor might be the reason why Connor’s parents chose his name because that’s what they did. That’s what they _do_. There’s a part of both of them that is unequivocally devoted to musical theatre, and then there’s another part that is just outright childlike. Put those two together and you get a night of ridiculous conversations and stupid ideas, but also endless laughter and undeniable joy. 

It’s one of the things about Naba that Connor loves the most, but then again, he loves most things about his roommate. 

“Oh, by the way,” Naba calls from her room while Connor prepares dinner. “Did I tell you I got the lead in Arnold’s new play?” 

“No, you didn’t, that’s amazing!” 

“I know,” she says, emerging from her room with a wide smile on her face that Connor can’t help but reciprocate. 

“Well?” 

Naba shoots him a questioning look as she takes a seat at the kitchen table. “Well, what?” 

“You can’t just say that and then not elaborate,” Connor laughs. “Tell me everything.” 

“Well, it’s technically still the same show but without the interactive element,” she says. “As fun as that was, Arnold thinks we’ll attract a bigger audience if people aren’t terrified of being pulled onstage.” 

“But that’s the best part!” 

“I know,” Naba agrees with a laugh. “I loved it, but I get where he’s coming from. Not everyone loves involuntary participation as much as we do.” 

Connor hums in agreement, the memory of Kevin Price being ever as uncomfortable on that stage playing in his mind. He can’t help but crack a smile at the image and tries to ignore the strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. “When’d you find out?” 

“Just this morning,” Naba says, eyes now glued to her phone as Connor brings the food over. She barely even notices as she’s typing something, biting her lip before cracking a smile and a tiny laugh. 

“What’s so funny?” Connor asks after a while, and when Naba doesn’t answer, he pokes her with a fork. 

“Huh?” 

Connor just shakes his head. As much as he loves Naba, the girl can’t multitask to save her life. “Who are you texting?” he asks instead, now suddenly curious as to whom had caught her attention. 

“I- No one,” she blurts, and how her cheeks flush red. 

“As if,” Connor taunts, and Naba rolls her eyes before turning them back to her screen. Connor ignores the urge to scoff and instead asks, “So, did you have to audition or did you just get it?” 

Naba smirks then, her eyes shooting up from her phone, and Connor can see the playful tint in them clear as day. “Well, I didn’t audition per se,” she smiles, Connor’s eyebrows deciding between knitting together or raising in surprise. “I used the age-old trick called sleeping with the boss.” 

Though it seems impossible, Connor’s eyes must have doubled in size as his mouth falls open. “ _Naba_ ,” he breathes, and he isn’t sure what to make of it, nevermind what to say. 

“To be fair, though,” Naba laughs, a hand in the air, gesturing in defense. “He said he’d already considered me for the role before we started hooking up.” 

“Wait, _hooking up_?” Connor nearly chokes on his food. “So it’s not just a thing, it’s like a thing-thing?” 

Naba lets out a bewildered snort that doesn’t fail to make Connor laugh a little, too. “You’re making zero sense, but yeah, I guess it is a _thing-thing_.” 

“And how long has this been going on?” Connor pries, completely fine with sounding like an overprotective parent. 

“Like two weeks,” Naba shrugs, her casual face not at all mirrored by the one Connor was sporting. 

“You’ve been sleeping with someone for two weeks without telling me?” he complains, half-teasing and half-offended. “How dare you not tell me something like that.” 

“I wanted to test the waters first,” Naba says, a warm smile on her face now that is readily tested by Connor’s whining. “Besides you always get so worked up about these things, you start talking like you’re in some low-budget costume drama-” 

“Two whole weeks, you’ve been sneaking around,” Connor responds appropriately. “Two weeks! To call it betrayal simply would not suffice. You wound me, Nabulungi.” 

“Thank you for proving my point.” 

Connor laughs. “So long as you don’t start dating him,” he says, taking another bite of the food he’d practically forgotten. “I don’t think I’d survive having to spend time with you guys if Kevin was gonna be there.” 

“Oh, honey,” Naba giggles, offering a forgiving smile and a reassuring hand on his wrist. “We’re already dating." 

“No,” Connor groans, tossing about like a five-year-old in his chair. “I don’t want you to date him.” 

Naba gives him a pointed look at that, and he feels slightly regretful. It isn’t that he doesn’t want Naba to date Arnold, it’s just that Arnold most definitely comes with a side of Kevin. It felt just like when you order fries at a restaurant and automatically get a dip to go along. Connor didn’t order a dip. In fact, Connor didn’t even order the fries, Naba did, and he knows well enough that when someone orders fries for the entire table, no one gets away unaffected. 

“Why not?” Naba asks, a frown on her brows yet she’s smiling. “He’s a great guy. He’s funny, and smart – in his own way – and he’s kind, do you know how hard it is to find a guy these days that is kind without taking pride in it? It’s like, it doesn’t matter if you’re Mother fucking Theresa if you’re never gonna shut up about it,” she says, laughing at Connor’s failed attempt of stifling his own, and he notices then that there’s a twinkle in her eyes. One he hasn’t really seen before. “He’s genuine, he’s real, he’s... I don’t know, perfect.” 

Connor doesn’t know what to say. It’s not often he finds himself at a loss for words, yet the look on Naba’s face – one of awe and longing – has rendered him speechless. “Wow,” he manages to get out, to which Naba screws up her face in embarrassment. 

“Maybe perfect is a stretch,” she considers for a moment, glancing down to her phone resting on the table. “But it’s not far from.” 

“You really like him, don’t you?” Connor smiles and once again, Naba’s face flushes pink for a second as she struggles to regain her facade of cool, calm, and collectedness. 

“I think I do, yeah,” she surrenders after a while, with a deep sigh following. “God, that’s embarrassing.” 

Connor laughs. “No, come on, it’s sweet,” he says. “If you say he’s great then I believe you. He’d be lucky to have you, you know that.” 

Naba considers him briefly, an unreadable look on her face that strikes Connor as rather worried. Which, of course, makes him worry about Naba being worried and that’s a vicious cycle he doesn't need to engulf himself in right now. 

“Can you promise me something?” Naba says before he can let his thoughts snowball into anything too troubling. He nods, although it feels hesitant in a way he hopes doesn’t shine through. “I wanna see this thing out,” she starts, “and it would mean a lot to me if you could put this whole Kevin debacle on ice for a bit. At least when we’re around.” 

Connor cocks his head to one side as he watches her. She shouldn’t have to ask, he knows that. He knows he’s being ridiculous and childish about his supposed worst enemy, but it comes naturally. He can’t help it most of the time, but he also can’t do that to Naba. He hasn’t seen her like this in years, and that’s enough to make his mind up. “Of course,” he says, returning Naba’s smile. 

If it makes her happy, he’d walk to the very edge of the world. Besides, he only has to play nice when Naba and Arnold are there, which makes workhours fair game for snarky comments and biting remarks. He can live with that.

* * *

_Slice of Life  
May 25th   
9:04pm _

“Wait, Naba went to NYU?” Kevin asks after listening to Arnold ramble on about how perfect she was going to be as the lead in his play. 

“Uh-huh,” Arnold nods. “She went with Connor, I thought you knew that?” 

Kevin only shrugs. There is a possibility he’s heard it in passing, but he isn’t exactly known for remembering details about people he barely knows. To be completely honest, the only reason he remembers that Connor went to NYU is that he’s holding onto that piece of information in the hopes of using it against him someday. 

He’s usually not petty, but there’s something about Connor McKinley that lures that side out of him. 

“And she’s doing your show?” he asks, muting the TV as the episode of Seinfeld they’d been watching is replaced by ads. 

Arnold looks up from his phone with knitted eyebrows. “Why do you sound so surprised?” 

No, I just,” Kevin falters as he’s trying to explain his thought process without sounding like a complete ass. “I mean, NYU is quite prestigious, is all.” 

“So is The Book of Arnold,” Arnold points out with a deadpan look on his face that subconsciously makes Kevin’s eyebrows spell out the skepticism in his mind. 

“You refer to God as ‘Heavenly Daddy’, Arn-” Kevin can’t even finish his sentence before Arnold shoots off the couch and walks with heavy yet determined steps to his room. “That’s not what I- Arn, come on.” 

Arnold doesn’t answer, but he leaves the door open which lets Kevin know he’s not too bothered. Despite the looks of it, Kevin never intends to hurt people. The one exception being Connor, but for the rest of the world, he usually means well, only it comes out brash and judgmental. He likes to blame his upbringing for that, like he does most of his flaws, but he knows there’s only so much truth to it, and essentially, it can be chalked up to Kevin being a less than perfect person. He’s not incredible; he’s barely even nice. It makes him wonder why Arnold has stuck around all these years. 

Their disposition isn’t ideal by any means, and it relies heavily on Arnold not growing tired of Kevin’s incessant habit of having an ego twice the size of the state of Utah, but his best friend has always been the first to defend him when he’s criticized, as well as the first to point out when he steps out of line. In no world would people believe Arnold is the responsible one out of the two of them, and maybe that’s why they work so well together. They even each other out in ways not perceptible to the naked eye. 

Still, he feels bad for not being supportive enough, despite his many efforts of reminding himself. Arnold’s accomplishments are just as great as his own – if not greater – and he should acknowledge that a lot more than he actually does. 

As the thought keeps nagging him to the point where he can’t even hear the TV, he decides to get up and go for a walk just to clear his mind a little. But he stops before he reaches the door, throwing a glance to Arnold’s room. 

“I’m sorry,” he calls dumbly and gets no response. “I’m going to CVS, do you want anything?” 

He waits a moment and is about to open the front door when Arnold’s head peeks out from his doorway. “Skittles and a better attitude.” 

Kevin smiles. “You got it.” 

“Oh, and a pack of condoms while you’re at it.” 

Kevin stops, his hand halfway to the handle as he turns back. “What...,” he begins, realizing he isn’t sure where the sentence is going but feeling too dumb not to end it, “...for?” 

Arnold gives him a bemused look as he breathes out a laugh. “Okay, I know it’s been a while for you, buddy, but I’m sure you didn’t forget how condoms work.” 

“No, I-” Kevin bites his tongue, shooting his friend a pointed glare that only seems to amuse Arnold. “I mean, why?” 

“I have a date,” Arnold shrugs sheepishly, the slightest hint of pink spreading across his face. 

“A date?” Kevin parrots, earning a less than content look from Arnold. 

“Again, what’s with the surprise?” 

Kevin winces, only catching himself just then. “I’m sorry,” he offers as much remorse as he’s capable of showing. 

“You better make that two packs.” 

“Just how much sex are you expecting to have?” slips his tongue before he can stop himself. 

Arnold lets out another amused breath as he quite obviously tries to stifle a laugh. “Two packs of skittles, genius,” he says and Kevin feels stupid. 

“I totally knew that.” 

“Sure thing, bud.”

* * *

_Slice of Life  
May 28th   
7:45am _

Kevin has just finished setting up when Connor pulls into the parking spot next to him. They usually leave a few spots between them, if not because the others were already occupied then for the sole reason of not having to be _that_ close. Which is why Kevin can’t help but glower when Connor steps out, because there are at least four other places he could have parked, yet he chose the one directly beside Kevin. 

“Morning, Price,” Connor says causally as he walks round his truck to set up his menu. 

“Oh, is it?” Kevin quips without thinking and realizes first once the words have left his tongue that what he said makes absolutely no sense. 

Connor looks up, bemused, and with narrowed eyes, as he laughs out a, ”What?” 

“That would have worked if you said ‘ _good_ morning’ like a normal person,” he huffs, rolling his eyes at Connor’s failed attempt at holding back his laughter. “Why did you park there anyway?” 

“Good spot,” Connor shrugs. 

“Well, I’d rather you not try to steal my customers, so,” Kevin gestures to the still-empty street beside them, “move.” 

Connor, of course, does not budge. “You know why Sephora spikes your sales, right?” 

Kevin narrows his eyes as he shoots Connor a glance that he himself isn’t even sure how to interpret. He doesn’t know what Connor is getting at, but either way, he would never let Connor know that. 

“Do you know who shops at Sephora?” 

Kevin scoffs but entertains the question regardless. “Who?” 

“I believe it was the late Billy Joel himself who coined the phrase-” 

“Billy Joel isn’t dead.” 

“-uptown girls.” 

Kevin stares dumbly, but the silver lining he revels in is the fact that Connor is doing the same thing. It probably shouldn’t be that comforting, he knows that but seeing Connor look as dumbfounded as Kevin feels just did something to him. Though he isn’t entirely sure what. 

“So?” he asks after a while. 

“Well, I’m not looking to boost your ego, but,” Connor clicks his tongue, “I think some of the ladies are coming for things other than – what do you call it again? Because it sure isn’t food.” 

There’s a brief moment of silent tension before Kevin’s face morphs into a bemused but proud expression. “You calling me hot, McKinley?” 

Connor rolls his eyes with a pointed scoff. “I’m just pointing out facts, _you_ added hotness,” he says. “Kinda narcissistic, don’t you think?” 

He flashes Kevin a taunting smile as he turns back around to tend to his own business, and Kevin knows he should do the same, but there’s something novel about the situation. Something strange and unexplored that sparks adrenaline to rush through his veins for reasons he couldn’t fully comprehend. The same sort of electricity he had felt that night when they were drunk and uninhibited and so, so close. 

He tries to shrug it off, at least the memory of skin against skin that paints a dangerously vivid image in his mind, but the adrenaline he can hold onto a while longer. “Still,” he starts, earning a half-assed glance from Connor who had clearly thought the conversation was over. “That doesn’t explain why you chose to park right next to me. Unless.” 

Connor’s head spins a full 180 before the rest of his body can catch up, his face twisted into a scowl. “Don’t you dare,” he warns but Kevin has already crossed the line by a mile. 

“Unless you come for things other than the food, too.” 

Connor wrinkles his nose with exaggerated distaste that Kevin almost believes to be feigned. “That’s absurd,” he says, all traces of amusement washed from his face. “You’re absurd.” 

“Whatever you say, McKinley,” Kevin grins and the second Connor turns back around, he knows he’s won this battle. 

Now all that remains is winning the war.

* * *

_Against the Grain_  
May 28th   
3:14pm 

It’s been a slow day so far; Connor blames the weather as he wipes the rain off the countertop. It had started early and the sky is still dark, stealing any hope he had that the pouring would stop anytime soon. 

He’s only had two customers in the past hour, and he isn’t exactly expecting more, seeing as the only people passing him by are either running for cover or not about to have their late lunch outdoors. It’s a sound decision, but he still wishes that someone, _anyone_ , would buy something, or he’d barely make enough to go around today. Which usually means he has to stay open on his day off, too, and nothing in the world sounds like a worse idea than that right now. 

His attention is soon caught by a voice, though, and he jumps to his feet to greet whoever was brave enough to order anything in the pouring rain, yet when seeing who the voice belongs to, he can only stare. 

“You open?” Arnold asks under a pink umbrella, and if Connor didn’t know better, he’d say it was identical to the one Naba owned. 

“Uh, yeah,” Connor scrambles together a sentence as he glances over to Kevin’s truck. “Is Kevin out?” 

“No, no, he’s there,” Arnold assures which only made Connor’s confusion double. Why would he come to Connor when Kevin is right there? 

“Oh,” is all he manages to get out in-between thoughts. “Um.” 

Arnold offers a smile, before turning to the menu. “I’d love a burrito if you don’t mind.” 

“Of course not!” Connor suddenly regains his ability to function like a normal human, and hides his blush as best he can. “Tofu or seitan?” 

“Tofu is fine,” Arnold says and Connor gets to work. A moment of silence falls while Connor prepares the order, which is really not that strange, yet the air feels heavier for some reason, and Connor worries it’s his fault before Arnold speaks again. “You know, I actually wanted to ask you something.” 

He tries to keep his focus on preparing the food, but can’t help but shoot Arnold a curious look over the counter. “Oh?” 

Arnold considers him for a moment, looking as though he was struggling to find the words. He shoots a glance in Kevin’s direction that automatically makes Connor’s eyes do the same. “I need a male lead in my play,” Arnold explains after a while, scratching the back of his neck as he meets Connor’s eyes. “I guess what I’m getting at is, um, you’d be perfect for the role. Would you consider coming in for a table read?” 

Connor has to physically force himself to shut his gaping mouth. Is Arnold asking him to join the show? Surely, he can’t be. Connor hasn’t acted in years and suddenly starting again feels like a disaster waiting to happen. Still, he finds himself saying, “Sure.” 

“Really?” Arnold cracks a wide smile that is damn near contagious. “That would be fantastic.” 

Connor can’t help but smile back, surprising himself more than anyone. “When were you thinking?” 

Arnold’s brows knit together in thought for a second. “Tomorrow?” 

It takes him by surprise, even though this entire exchange feels oddly surreal, but he finds himself nodding along instead of considering any consequences. “That works.” 

“Perfect,” Arnold beams when Connor hands over his order. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Once he’s paid, Connor watches as Arnold scampers off to Kevin’s truck, knocking on the back door before Kevin opens. He looks surprised as he catches Connor’s eyes before he can avert them, and he realizes Kevin had probably not heard his and Arnold’s exchange due to the rain. It comforts him for the briefest of moments before it occurs to him that while Kevin might have missed the conversation, he will most definitely recognize the wrapping on Arnold’s burrito. 

Oh well, that’s a problem for another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's short but I really wanted a new chapter out before I have to take responsibility and actually study for a change. Hope you liked it either way, and if you did, please leave a comment as they never fail to make my day! And kudos are much appreciated too.
> 
> Stay safe y'all xx


	4. Tooth Hurty

#### 

Tooth Hurty

_Against the Grain  
May 29th  
9:42am _

It’s such a strange feeling, being back in a theatre as an actor rather than someone in the audience. He hasn’t been on a stage in years, yet it feels as though he never stopped performing. In a way, he feels like he belongs here, surrounded by people who share his love for the arts, but he can’t help the thought of missing a full day of work that gnaws at the back of his mind. 

The script he’s provided with has notes scribbled along the sides that he couldn’t decipher if his life so depended on it, but as he’s reading along with the other actors, he realizes there is a brilliance to Arnold’s writing that he never fully caught onto when watching the play a few weeks ago. As an ex-member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, he knows the culture and beliefs well enough to find the biting satire nothing short of hilarious, and it’s safe to say that Arnold clearly has a lot of experience with Mormons himself. 

Connor can’t help but wonder just how much experience that is. 

“So what do you think?” Arnold asks with a wide smile once the table read is finished. 

“I think you might be a genius, Arnold,” Connor laughs, flipping through the script once more. “It’s great, you really capture the essence of Mormonism.” 

“Takes one to know one,” Arnold shrugs with a chuckle, and Connor isn’t sure if he’s referring to being a genius or a Mormon. “And like I said, I think you’d really be perfect for the role of Elder Nice.” 

Connor chuckles. “I feel like I should be offended by that considering he is kind of a dick.” 

“Oh, he definitely is,” Arnold says without a trace of hesitation, but then his lips form a smile that feels more gentle than it does teasing. “But he’s based on one of the kindest dicks I’ve ever known.” 

Connor considers him for a moment, inclined to ask for more information than that but as Arnold makes no sign of elaborating further, he decides to drop it. Instead, the conversation moves on to the topic of making all of this possible. Connor would have to take a lot of time off from work, which means he’s either going to struggle financially or be forced to hire someone to work the shifts he wouldn’t be able to. The latter option, Connor knows, is the more realistic one, yet he feels oddly hesitant to allow anyone but himself into his truck. It wouldn’t feel the same, knowing his face wouldn’t be the only one people associated with Against the Grain. Knowing his hands wouldn’t be the only ones preparing the food, and his eyes not the only ones to watch Kevin when he was none the wiser. Knowing that perhaps, although it seems unlikely, their rivalry wouldn’t be as personal if there were to be a third person in the mix. 

He decides not to think about it for now. Whatever reasons for not accepting Arnold’s offer his brain was spewing at him were instantly overpowered by the sheer force of feeling like he’s never belonged anywhere but right here, and he knows he’d kick himself if he were to deny himself the opportunity. So, he says yes, and for a second, he feels that maybe, just maybe, everything will turn out alright in the end.

* * *

_Slice of Life  
May 29th  
8:30pm_

Kevin lets out a ridiculously deep sigh once he makes it inside his apartment, resisting the urge to slide down to the floor with his back pressed against the front door. It’s not that the day has been particularly trying at all, it’s just been odd. He can’t find a better word to describe it and quite frankly, he can’t be bothered to try. 

Instead, he makes for the kitchen to soothe the obnoxious growls coming from his stomach that he somehow has managed to ignore since lunch. He hadn’t had an appetite then and he sure as hell doesn’t have one now, but he knows better than to starve himself because he can’t get one tiny, yet incredibly loud thought out of his head. 

_Connor McKinley didn’t show up for work today._

It shouldn’t bother him as much as it does, but for some reason, the thought worms itself under his skin and stays there, just below the surface so that no matter how much Kevin scratches, the itch remains untouched and increasingly more difficult to ignore. He isn’t sure why, just like he isn’t sure why Connor skipped work. Maybe he’s sick, or tired, or maybe he found a new spot. 

Lord knows why the last suggestion makes his stomach turn, so he blames it on the spoiled milk he just poured into his cereal instead. 

He eats alone, slouched on the sofa, watching yet another rerun of a Seinfeld episode he’s already seen twelve times while his mind pays the tv no attention at all. His brain is finding other ways to keep busy, because when did Kevin’s brain ever allow him to actually relax. There’s always something keeping him on edge, be it the overwhelming feeling of responsibility he felt as a child, or the incessant thought that he still hasn’t lived up to his full potential and is therefore failing at life in more ways than should be possible, or the utterly nauseating feeling of worrying about the person he hates more than the live-action remake of Beauty and the Beast. 

And that’s saying a lot, because Kevin Price does not criticize Disney unless absolutely necessary. Emma Watson really deserved so much better. 

About two episodes later, Arnold comes through the door with a delighted grin on his face that makes Kevin want to chuck his spoon at him. 

“Why are you so happy?” 

Arnold just shrugs before biting his lip in what looks to Kevin like hesitation, but Arnold makes for the kitchen before he can point it out. A while later he plops down on the couch next to Kevin, his own bowl of cereal in hand and with a much more neutral face than earlier. Or perhaps he just got better at concealing whatever it was he so obviously doesn’t want Kevin to know. 

“Look, if you’re smiling about Naba you can tell me, you know,” he says, giving his friend a gentle nudge. “I got over the initial shock days ago.” 

Arnold cocks an eyebrow as he slurps his milk. “No, you didn’t.” 

“Fine. I got over it about ten minutes before you came through the door,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “And don’t eat like that, it’s gross.” 

“You’re one to talk. You’re eating your cereal with spoiled milk.” 

Kevin frowns. “How do you it’s spoiled?” 

“Because,” Arnold starts, as matter-of-factly as if he was telling Kevin the sky was blue, “it was spoiled when I put it back in the fridge this morning, and the new jug wasn’t opened when I poured my own just now.” 

“Why the hell would you put spoiled milk back in the first place?” 

“Why the hell would you eat it?” 

Kevin glares, unsure if he’s more upset with Arnold for deflecting or with himself for not having a good enough comeback. “I didn’t realize until I’d poured it.” 

Arnold shovels another spoon in his mouth as he leans back, putting his feet up on the coffee table. “That’s not a very good argument. You coulda just poured another bowl, you know.” 

Kevin gets up with a groan and marches to the kitchen with heavy enough steps to elicit a warning from their downstairs neighbor in the form of a muffled _walk normal, jackass_ that makes them both forget whatever spat they had just been caught up in. 

“I don’t think Dennis likes us very much,” Arnold laughs. 

“Well, I don’t like that he uses his home gym at four in the morning,” Kevin says when he returns from the kitchen. “Tit for that, or whatever.” 

Arnold pulls a face but doesn’t argue, and then they sit like that for a while. 

Kevin’s mind quickly finds its way back to hypothesizing new reasons why Connor never showed this morning, and it takes Arnold shutting off the tv before Kevin realizes he’s talking to him. 

“Earth to Kevin,” Arnold says and Kevin offers an apologetic face before sitting up straight to show Arnold now has his undivided attention. “What’re you so preoccupied with, anyway?” 

“Nothing. It’s just been a long day,” Kevin says, averting his gaze as his mind wanders again, and he can’t help but let his tongue slip the thought he so desperately wanted to be answered. “McKinley didn’t show up this morning. So it’s been, um, weird.” 

Arnold nods slowly, seemingly not that surprised by the news which only makes Kevin suspicious. It’s a bad habit. Kevin has quite a few of those. 

“About that,” Arnold says with hesitation in his eyes but keeps going anyway. “I know your reaction to this is gonna be bigger than when Trump won the election so I’m just gonna come out with it. I asked Connor to join the show.” 

It takes Kevin a few seconds to process what exactly had just passed through his ears, and it takes him a full minute of staring dumbly at Arnold who only waits patiently before he can even form a coherent sentence. 

“No,” is all he manages to get out in the end. 

Arnold watches him a while longer, as if he’s waiting him out, but gives in when Kevin doesn’t say anything else. “Really thought you’d react more than th-” 

“No,” Kevin repeats and repeats and repeats until the word doesn’t sound real anymore, and then he just straight up whines. “No, you can’t do this to me. Please, don’t do this to me.” 

“It’s not the end of the world, Kev. Calm down.” 

Kevin doesn’t want to calm down. Kevin wants to punch someone. More specifically, he wants to punch someone with ridiculously blue eyes and sickeningly golden freckles. 

“No, you don’t get it,” he says, getting on his feet in a fit of childlike rage that he wants to feel ashamed about but can’t find it in himself to care at this moment. “He’s my sworn enemy, working with him is like taking a piss in my face, Arnold.” 

Arnold scoffs, an incredulous look on his face that doesn’t soothe Kevin’s anger in the slightest. “You’re being ridiculous,” he says. “Besides, if he joins the show, you’ll get Union Square to yourself, right?” And Kevin considers him for a moment. “Well, you and the other fifteen vendors that park there, but we only mention them if it’s important to the plot.” 

“ _What_?” Kevin asks but ignores the shrug Arnold gives him in response completely. “That doesn’t matter, I just don’t think this is a good idea.” 

“He’s a great actor.” 

“You haven’t seen him act.” 

“Well, he graduated from the theatre program at NYU alongside Naba, remember? Who, by the way, says he’s amazing,” Arnold says and when Kevin tries to argue, adds, “And yes, I do take her word for it.” 

Kevin knows it’s pointless to fight. He knows it’s a battle he’s never going to win but he can’t let it go either way. It isn’t enough that Connor McKinley has managed to become a daily disturbance in Kevin’s life, but now he has wormed his way into his personal space as well. 

“It’s already settled, anyway,” Arnold says, offering a trying smile that nearly makes Kevin roll his eyes. “He’s already said yes.” 

Kevin scoffs. He doesn’t mean to, but he does, and the face Arnold shoots him is definitely warranted. “Only to spite me, I swear,” he finds himself saying, despite knowing he’s fighting fire with gasoline. “He’s only doing it because he knows I don’t want-” 

“For once though, can this not be about you?” 

Kevin shuts his mouth promptly, feeling just like he used to whenever he got told off by his parents. Ashamed. Sacrilegious. As though he’s just disgraced his own family name for now and all eternity. It’s a feeling he knows well, and though he’s reluctant to admit it, it still infests his mind whenever someone raises their voice at him. 

Arnold seems to have caught on and is quick to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You know I love you, bud. But this is a really big deal for me. It’d just be nice if you’d consider that.” 

“I’m sorry,” Kevin sighs an apology. “I’m sorry I get so worked up, he just does that to me, you know? It’s like I'm a bull and he’s dressed in all red and I just wanna ram him into a wall and- _Hey_ , not like _that_ , don’t be disgusting.” 

Arnold, although trying very hard, does not manage to keep his laugh in and Kevin rolls his eyes but doesn’t fight the quirk in his lips. 

“I’m still mad at you,” he says despite the smile on his face. 

“I know you are, bud,” Arnold says as he flicks the tv back on. “But it’s gonna be fine. Trust me, I know these things.” 

And Kevin does, but he knows Arnold well enough to realize that while the ending might turn out okay, the getting there is going to be long and tiring and doubtlessly rocky.

* * *

_Against the Grain  
May 30th  
2:30pm _

“I’m onto you, you know.” 

Connor watches Kevin with bored eyes through his serving window. This has become customary by now, Kevin showing up out of the blue with accusations hot at his tongue, and normally Connor would play along, bicker about small things because they’re both petty like that. But for some reason, he doesn’t feel up for their regular game of cat and mouse today. 

“I’m onto yo-” 

“I heard you the first time.” 

Kevin’s face doesn’t change. He’s still sporting that juvenile determination of getting whatever it is he wants to be said said. “Well, I am,” he says. “Onto you.” 

The sigh Connor lets out in response is ridiculously long and exaggerated, and it elicits exactly the reaction from Kevin that Connor is looking for. An eye-roll, or as Connor likes to think of it, Kevin in his natural habitat. 

“Oh, what have I done this time, Price?” he asks, allowing his lips to quirk into a smile if only to spite Kevin. “Or is it still about stealing your customers?” 

“No, apparently that wasn’t enough for you,” Kevin sizes him up, and it’s almost cute how he tries to make himself seem bigger despite Connor having the obvious advantage of standing in his truck, a good fifteen inches above the ground. “Now you gotta go stealing my friends too.” 

“You have one friend,” Connor points out. “And he happens to like me.” 

“So, you’re just gonna quit this then?” Kevin pushes, clearly not backing down that easy. “You’re gonna join the show, go bankrupt, and that’s it? Sounds like a hell of a plan.” 

“Sounds like you’ve given it more thought than I have,” Connor smirks, an eyebrow cocked perhaps a tad too suggestively. “Jealous?” 

“I couldn’t care less. I just don’t see why you have to join Arnold’s show. You have a degree, just go to Broadway, or whatever.” 

“God, you’re ignorant.” 

Kevin doesn’t counter. Instead, he stares dumbly right at him and Connor is fairly certain he can see Kevin counting to ten in his head. He’s grown accustomed to hissy fits and childish behavior by now, knows when to expect an outburst and what buttons he needs to push to make it happen, but he hasn’t really seen Kevin trying to calm himself down like he seems to be right now. And for a second, he worries that Kevin’s anger goes way beyond what he has let on thus far. 

“I’ll get you back for this, you know,” he says after a while when his cheeks aren’t quite as flushed and his breathing steadier. “Don’t mistake my silence for compliance.” 

Connor laughs, because whether he realizes it or not, Kevin just ruined his attempt at sounding intimidating by rhyming. 

“You know Arnold invited Naba and I over tonight, right?” he ignores the threat with practiced ease. 

“It’s ‘Naba and me’,” Kevin bites back with just enough pride to let Connor know he’s still playing the game, and why that is comforting Connor doesn’t waste any energy dwelling on. “And yes, I’m well aware. But don’t get any ideas, I'll only be civil because Arnold asked me to. I’m still gonna wanna punch your teeth out the entire time.” 

Connor smiles then, openmouthed and taunting. “Well, that’s good,” he says and Kevin’s expression turns incredulous. “If I lose a tooth, at least it won’t be acci _dental_.” 

A full thirty seconds go by where they’re both just staring at each other and it should feel awkward or strange but it’s oddly – Connor barely admits it – natural. He would have hoped for a bigger reaction, what with the absolute hilarity he had just pulled from thin air, but Kevin gives him no validation whatsoever, and he can’t say he’s that surprised. 

After a while of continuous silence, Kevin turns around and leaves without a word and Connor isn’t sure he’s satisfied with winning by walkover but takes the victory either way.

* * *

_Against the Grain  
May 30th  
8:12pm _

The Cunningham-Price apartment is slightly smaller than Connor and Naba’s, but it is – and Connor only admits this in the far back of his brain – a lot nicer. It’s tidy and newly renovated, the windows are big and the floor doesn’t creak. They even have a balcony, albeit a tiny one. 

Naba hadn’t even bothered to knock, surprising Connor by allowing herself inside with a greeting that had not only been responded by Arnold, but by Kevin, too, and she soon disappears around a corner as Connor hurries after, almost forgetting that Naba has probably, most certainly, been here before. 

“Wow,” she smiles when entering the kitchen, hugging Arnold from behind and placing a peck on his cheek. “It smells amazing, babe.” 

Arnold spins around with a proud grin on his face. “Well, these two aren’t the only ones who know how to cook.” 

“You’re just following my recipe.” Kevin suddenly appears beside Connor, turning to look at him for an uncomfortable amount of time before offering a guarded, “Hi.” 

“I’m still cooking, aren’t I?” Arnold waves a spatula in the air, spilling tomato sauce all over his white button-down which makes Naba giggle and Connor is only slightly annoyed at how disgustingly adorable the two of them are. 

“This is why I should have cooked,” Kevin tuts amusedly, and grabs the spatula from Arnold’s hand as he excuses himself to go change, and since Naba, not so discreetly, follows him, Connor finds himself alone with Kevin on the other’s home ground. “You’re lucky Arnold did the shopping. Everything is regretfully vegan.” 

Kevin doesn’t turn around so Connor answers to his back. “That’s very kind of him.” 

Kevin mutters something under his breath and Connor takes the opportunity to have a look around. Still, he makes sure to keep Kevin in his peripheral at all times, not entirely convinced he won’t try to jump him any chance he gets. 

“I like your apartment,” he says, toying with a half-finished Rubik’s Cube sat on the table. “It’s nice.” 

Kevin turns around slowly, his expression still hostile yet he’s smiling. It’s eerie, if anything. “Don’t get used to it,” he says simply, and the practiced smile turns into something resembling a warning. 

“Lighten up, will ya,” Connor tries. He’s promised Naba not to make things weird, and Kevin acting like he’s been possessed by a fifty's housewife who secretly hates her husband is not doing him any favors. “You said you’d be civil.” 

“This is me being civil,” Kevin stares, that same dumbfounded stare he’d given Connor earlier and it isn’t enough. Connor wants more. He wants a reaction even though he knows it’s beyond selfish. “And don’t tell me what to do.” 

“You’re really good at that,” he says, gesturing to the spatula in Kevin’s hand. “You’d make a great wife.” 

Kevin rolls his eyes with a scoff and the sound is so comfortably familiar. “That’s incredibly offensive, and slightly homophobic, so good job,” Kevin claps his hands sarcastically, “you just insulted your own sexuality.” 

“Right, because you’re such a Good Samaritan yourself.” 

“I’m just saying,” Kevin says, eyes knowing. “You’ve been here less than five minutes and have already managed to insult me and every gay man in New York.” 

“Well, I'm sorry I bruised your ego,” Connor feigns an apology while Kevin stares. “It’s not like it’s hard.” 

His eyes involuntarily glance down Kevin’s body for just a fragment of a second, but Kevin doesn’t miss a beat and narrows his eyes, ready for combat when Arnold suddenly comes back with Naba on his back and they’re both looking, well, disheveled would seem the most appropriate word. 

“Subtle,” Kevin says, and Connor isn’t fully sure if it’s directed toward him or the two lovebirds at his side. 

A while later they’re all sat around the table and in some surreal way, it feels almost normal. At least when the conversation is led by Arnold, because Arnold – Connor has come to appreciate – has a way of making everyone feel welcome and seen. He’s quick to invite someone into the conversation, and even while it at times seems as though he’s never going to stop talking, he’ll pass the ball to anyone out of nowhere and it honestly makes for really great conversation. Connor likes being on his toes, and not knowing when Arnold would throw the discussion his way again was doing a good job of keeping him alert. 

Even Kevin seems more at ease as the time passes, his face softening gradually as Arnold talks about all the new ideas he has for his show. He even lets a smile linger after something Connor says, although he’s quick to wipe it off when he notices that Connor noticed. It’s proving itself less difficult when they’re all together like this, which once again makes Connor wonder if it’s him that sets Kevin off the remainder of the time. 

“Wait,” Connor says, nearly choking on his wine as Arnold laughs. “You’re saying the play is based on your mission?” 

Arnold nods enthusiastically. “Uh-huh,” he says while Kevin breathes out an uncouth sigh. “We had quite the experience.” 

“Both of you?” Connor watches as Kevin’s eyes flick over to his with a look that says _no doy_ , if Connor has ever seen one. “I didn’t even know you guys were Mormon.” 

“Didn’t I tell you that?” Naba says, with a mix of amusement and conviction on her face. “I feel like I told you that.” 

“I think I would’ve remembered,” Connor says. 

“We’re not anymore, though,” Arnold says in-between bites. “We were excommunicated.” 

A flash of Connor isn’t sure what washes over Kevin’s face at the mention, but he quickly shakes it off and suddenly Connor understands how he can transition into practiced politeness so effortlessly. Connor, growing up Mormon, had been taught the very same technique of smile and wave that in hindsight felt awfully similar to the penguins in Madagascar. 

“Why?” Connor asks, thinking it’s a completely rational question only to have both Arnold and Naba laugh while Kevin shoots him a puzzled look followed by a scoff. 

“Oh wait, you’re serious.” Naba notices the confusion painted across his face and offers a hand that feels only slightly too pitying for Connor’s liking, and he makes a gesture that he hopes conveys the will-someone-tell-me-what-the-hell-is-so-obvious-about-that that he can’t seem to get his mouth to utter. 

“Well, when I say the play is based on our mission,” Arnold says. “I mean that quite literally.” 

Connor can feel his eyes double in size. “ _What_?” 

“Arnold thought it’d be a good idea to start his own religion,” Kevin says. “And he thought it’d be an even better idea to make himself the prophet.” 

“And I was a damn good one, too.” 

“I’m sure you were,” Naba smiles. 

“Wait, alright, slow down,” Connor says because the conversation is moving too quickly and he still doesn’t understand how on earth they had pulled the stunts in the show off in real life. On their mission as a part of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, nonetheless. “So you’re saying you actually told people that fucking frogs will cure their AIDS?” 

For the first time since Connor had met him, Kevin can’t keep a straight face and lets out a laugh that seems most involuntary and is surprisingly bubbly. Arnold gives him a shove, then turns to Connor and says, “Not my proudest moment, but at the time it sounded better than raping babies.” And that’s the second time this night Arnold has said something so absurd yet it seems Connor is the only one who’s reacting. 

“I think it still sounds better than raping babies, to be fair,” Kevin adds and Arnold nods in agreement. “But I'm not sure it justifies the blasphemy.” 

“Hey, I brought those people joy,” Arnold defends to a grinning Kevin. “They all knew The Book of Arnold wasn’t actual scripture and that most things I said was straight bullshit, but it still brought them hope, didn’t it? That felt more meaningful to me than trying to convince them God is real.” 

“I think it’s chivalrous,” Naba says, shooting Arnold a smile. “I have family on my dad’s side in Uganda and hope really does go a long way there.” 

Arnold intertwines their fingers as he turns to Kevin with wiggling eyebrows. “D’ya hear that? I’m chivalrous.” 

Kevin laughs through his nose. “I guess chivalry really is dead then.” 

“How the hell did you get away with it?” Connor asks, still perplexed by this entire conversation. 

“Oh, we didn’t,” Arnold laughs. “We were shut down as soon as our Mission President found out.” 

“And rightly so,” Kevin adds. 

“I just can’t wrap my head around the fact that you did... that.” 

Arnold considers him for a moment before saying, “Well, we were just sent there to proselytize anyway, you know,” he shrugs as if that meant nothing, and Connor thinks for a moment that maybe it doesn’t. “And who am I to tell a twenty-two-year-old girl with three live kids and two that died during birth that all she has to do is pray to Heavenly Father and everything will get better? Yannoe?” 

Connor isn’t sure what to say. He certainly hadn’t expected that, but realizes soon that no matter how hard he tries to understand what Arnold and Kevin experienced on their mission, he was just never going to. And that’s fine, he’s just going to have to learn not to be shocked with every piece of new information. 

“Yeah, no, you’re right,” he says. “I never really thought about what it would be like to serve my mission someplace like that. I was only sent to Florida, so.” 

And then it’s - finally – someone else’s turn to gape stupidly. 

“Wait, you’re Mormon?” 

Connor is surprised that Kevin is the one to ask, but nods his head regardless. “Was,” he says and when Kevin raises an eyebrow questioningly, he adds, “I left before college.” 

Kevin watches him for a moment and Connor finds it distracting in a way he doesn’t particularly enjoy. Not coming from him, anyway. “Where in Florida?” Kevin asks and the question feels loaded for reasons unbeknownst to Connor. 

“Orlando,” he shrugs, and there flashes that same look of hurt or remorse or, whatever it was, across Kevin’s face. “I know it probably wasn’t as bad as Uganda – actually I know it definitely wasn’t as bad as Uganda, but I feel very inclined to insist it was. All the tourists and Disney freaks. In my book, that’s hell.” 

Kevin’s expression keeps shifting between emotions and Connor notices how he clenches his jaw while staring daggers, before clearing his throat and averting his eyes. It’s strange, and Connor wants to tease him but decides against it, too afraid to start something. 

“Careful,” Arnold leans forward, putting a hand between his face and Kevin as he loudly whispers, “Orlando is kind of a sore spot for Kevin.” 

“Shut up, Arnold,” Kevin quips, and Connor guesses that his words aren’t as harsh as the tone had suggested as Arnold only laughs in response. “And you were right though, in saying it wasn’t as bad as Uganda, I mean.” 

“It wasn’t precisely like the Lion King,” Arnold grins. “I think Kevin was most devastated about not seeing any singing warthogs.” 

“No,” Kevin says with a trademark scoff. “I was most devastated by seeing a guy get shot in the face right in front of me. Took me weeks to scrub the feeling of blood splattered on my skin away.” 

“Jeez,” slips Connor’s tongue before he can stop it, and it isn’t meant as mocking but he’s afraid that doesn’t come across. To his surprise, though, Kevin doesn’t seem offended. He only drops his gaze slightly and shrugs it off. Which feels unnatural in a completely different way. 

“Yeah, we had fun,” Arnold jokes with just a hint of wistfulness that makes Naba squeeze his hand reassuringly. “In all fairness, though, we really did. Most people we met were incredibly kind and helpful. I honestly feel kinda bad for not staying in touch with them.” 

Kevin nods in agreement as the room falls silent and for the first time this evening, Connor feels a bit awkward. 

“You said my character was based on someone too, right?” he asks in a desperate attempt of breaking the silence and Arnold seems grateful as his lips curl into a smile. 

“Uh-huh,” he says, and Kevin slowly turns his head toward him with narrowed eyes and suddenly it hits Connor, like a fucking train to his face. 

“You’re not saying-” 

“I think he is,” Kevin says before Connor can finish, staring his friend down while shaking his in what seems to be a mixture of disapproval and amusement. “Unfortunately.” 

“How did I not figure that out sooner,” Connor deadpans, asking himself more than anyone else. “He’s literally called _Elder Nice_.” 

Arnold grins. “It’s funny because he isn’t.” 

“I’m sitting right here, Arn.” Kevin gives him a shove but seems uncharacteristically unfazed by the entire thing. 

“It literally rhymes!” Connor can’t say the same for himself, unfortunately.

* * *

_Slice of Life_  
May 30th  
11:42pm 

It’s nearing midnight when Connor and Naba eventually get ready to take off, and Kevin isn’t sure where the time had gone. It felt like his and Connor’s encounter in the kitchen had happened a mere hour ago, at tops. 

He’s finishing his third glass of wine for the night when Naba offers to help Arnold with the dishes before they leave, and Arnold agrees a little too keenly for Kevin to believe they’d get any work done at all, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he focuses on Connor, because even though he’d never say it out loud, his rival has admittedly been somewhat bearable through most of the evening. Save for the first five minutes and the fact that he had not only served his mission in Orlando, but he’d had the nerve to dislike it, too. 

There’s something else there now, Kevin has felt it ever since the play. Ever since the night that followed. Ever since Amy Winehouse and Grease and raspberry mojitos and boringly handsome men and- 

He’s spiraling. He doesn’t want to, but he is, and he takes no shame in blaming Connor for all of it. Truth is, there is something new about their relationship. Something novel and intriguing, something intimate in all the wrong ways. And it seems that despite Kevin’s best efforts, he can’t stop thinking about it. He can’t stop thinking about Connor and his stupidly smug grin and the trainwreck that is his sense of humor. He can’t stop thinking about the fact that they’ve been sitting in silence, staring at each other for several minutes and it hasn’t made him want to ram him into a wall yet. At least not for the sole reason of injuring him, and that was a can of worms he thought best to avoid. 

“Still thinking about punching my teeth out?” Connor asks then, as if reading his mind and Kevin considers telling him the truth but decides against it. He doesn’t want to give Connor the upper hand and besides, he enjoys their game far more than he’ll ever let Connor know. 

“Only always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I can't decide whether silence and compliance actually rhyme because it sounds different every time I say it, but then it is 4am as I'm posting this, so I'll just blame my brain being literal mush. 
> 
> I had fun writing this though, and I already know exactly how the next chapter will play out, it's just a matter of actually writing it but I'll get there, I promise. Quick shoutout to hellooo for giving me the idea of basing Connor's character in Arnold's play on Kevin! It's brilliant and I'm definitely gonna have some fun with that as well lmao
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter and feel free to leave a comment or kudos if you did! It goes a long way
> 
> Stay safe and all that jazz


	5. Men of Sapphire, Bars of Crystal

#### 

Men of Sapphire, Bars of Crystal 

_Against the Grain  
June 9th  
9:13pm _

It’s a hot night, in more ways than temperature-wise. Connor closed up over half an hour ago, after he gave his number to a handsome stranger who was very insistent on them meeting later that night, all while watching Kevin Price stare at them in his peripheral view. He hadn’t accepted the offer, nor had he declined. He knows it’ll still stand regardless, just like he knows Kevin is hungry for any and all information on the matter. At least if the way he’s watching Connor is anything to go by. 

Connor knows how to play the waiting game, and the waiting game almost always works with Kevin Price. 

“Who was that?” Kevin tries his best at looking indifferent and Connor would have believed he was, had he not known Kevin any better. 

“Who was who?” Connor feigns confusion. 

“The guy you just drooled all over,” Kevin says, waving his hand in the general direction the man had disappeared. “Tall, dark, and handsome, only the opposite.” 

“So, short, light, and... ugly?” Connor laughs through his nose. “If I didn’t know any better, I'd say you were describing me.” 

Kevin stares, that way he always does, and the tiny glint of disbelief is vastly overpowered by his attempt at seeming unimpressed. “You’re not ugly.” 

Connor snorts. “I’m not short, either.” 

“That’s debatable.” 

“You’re literally two inches taller than me.” 

“And I never said I was tall, either.” 

Connor wants to shrug it off but instead finds himself glaring. Kevin has that effect on him, and it’s starting to get more than frustrating to deal with. “Why do you care?” 

“I don’t.” Kevin looks away, making Connor roll his eyes without the satisfaction of Kevin noticing. That bastard. “He just seemed like a creep.” 

The waiting game – Connor has to remind himself – might always work with Kevin, but it’s also almost exactly like waiting for a slice of bread to pop out of the toaster. You know it’s going to happen. You know it hasn’t been that long. But it feels like an eternity and a half before it actually does. 

“I’ll have you know he was perfectly polite,” he says and knows that Kevin doesn’t believe him. “In fact, he was so nice, I might just see him later.” 

Kevin judges him, in all senses but verbally. “How sweet,” he taunts instead. “That’s bound to be a nice story to tell your grandkids – ‘I was desperate for dick and he put out’.” 

“Again, why do you care?” 

Kevin doesn’t respond, but Connor can see a positively snarky response playing on his lips. 

Things have been different the past week. Not different as in a noticeable change, but different nonetheless. To anyone else, their dynamic might seem the same as it always has. Cat and mouse, constant bickering, the waiting game. It’s all still there and they’re still playing, but something has changed. The rules are looser, the tactics dirtier, and the playing field expanded. It isn’t just a game at work anymore, it’s a game in every aspect of their lives, whether they meant for it to happen or not. And Connor has realized that he’s just as dead-set on winning as Kevin. For better or for worse. 

Before he knows it, Kevin turns on his heel and marches off, and Connor would have thought nothing of it, had Kevin walked toward his own truck and not the park in front of it. 

“Where are you going?” he calls but gets no response, and suddenly he’s fighting an urge he shouldn’t be having in the first place. 

He follows. God fucking dammit, he follows, and he’s sure if he could see Kevin’s face, the bastard would be grinning. The waiting game seems awfully pointless if he gives himself away this easily. 

“Where are you going?” 

“Why do you care?” Kevin grins. Of course, he’s grinning, Connor fucking called it. 

“Mature,” he says, finding himself in the compromising position he’d put Kevin in only minutes earlier. “Use my own question against myself, why don’t you.” 

Kevin shrugs with a playful look on his face that nearly makes Connor laugh. The man really is a child, nevermind the oxymoron. “You make it too easy.” 

Connor stares for a moment before averting his gaze, if only to save any face he’s got left. The park is strangely quiet, but people are coming and going and Connor can hear idle conversations if he strains his ears. In a flash of bad decision making, he decides to use the very same strategy that Kevin had just opted for, and he walks away. Away from the conversations and toward the sound of traffic. Toward a more secluded space, against better judgment, and when he hears footsteps pick up behind him, he smiles. Are they both really that predictable? Is this what they’ve been reduced to, chasing after each other without anything to say or do? 

Kevin grabs his wrist, and Connor thinks it should feel like the night they sang together, when Kevin had spun him around and the rhythm of his pulse had echoed all through Connor’s body, but this is different. The touch is nothing like that night, it’s cold and harsh and- _Oh_. 

The hand hadn’t been Kevin’s. The footsteps hadn’t been Kevin. The person in front of him is decidedly not Kevin. 

Connor’s staring straight at a hooded stranger with a knife. Well, _fuck_. 

“Give me your wallet,” comes a threat, and Connor complies without question. He’s seen enough crime dramas to know fighting back is never a good idea, and so he slowly reaches for his pocket, pulls out his – fortunately empty – wallet, and hands it over, in the hopes that the stranger will settle for it and leave him alone. 

Only, right as the man snatches the wallet out of Connor’s hand, he stumbles to the side at the impact of a very stupid, stupidly brave, Kevin Price. The man drops his knife but seems not to care as he charges at Kevin, and Connor reflexively covers his eyes before realizing he should probably help. But Connor McKinley doesn’t know how to fight. He’s never punched anyone and he’s never been punched. His life has been painfully sheltered and he’s done a good job of staying far away from violence altogether. 

Which is why he nearly screams when the man knocks Kevin to the ground after a few seconds. 

He keeps still, thinking that, maybe, the stranger won’t notice him and leave, and it almost works because the man stands back up – after fishing Kevin’s wallet out of his pocket – and turns around, but he turns toward Connor and at that moment, Connor finally understands what it feels like to think you’re going to die. 

But the man, for some reason Connor is sure is unexplainable, turns around and darts away. The knife is still on the ground in front of Connor’s feet and he considers picking it up for a brief moment before he hears a groan and he suddenly remembers Kevin. Idiot Price. Elder Bricks for Brains. Kevin doesn’t-think-about-the-consequences-because-he's-used-to-always-getting-his-way. Connor smiles despite the situation. 

“Are you fucking smiling?” 

Reality slaps his senses back. “No,” he says, crouching down next to Kevin who’s watching him with one eye. The other covered by his hand. “Are you hurt?” 

“Have a fucking guess.” 

Kevin moves his hand away and _dear lord_ that’s a black eye in the making. Connor guesses, because he’s never actually seen someone get a black eye before. He reaches out, lightly touching the skin just under Kevin’s eye but retreats his hand when Kevin winces. He isn’t sure what to do, so he stares awkwardly and notices Kevin’s right hand is bleeding. 

“You’re such an idiot,” he says, in lieu of comfort, and to his surprise, Kevin smiles. 

“Do I look pretty?” 

Connor snorts. “Pretty bruised, yeah.” 

“You should see the other guy,” Kevin says and looks deliriously sincere. 

“I did.” Connor bites back a smile. “He looked fine, you know, after he floored you and took off.” 

Kevin sits up with a groan but doesn’t seem less disheartened even though being in obvious pain. “I coulda beat him.” 

“How hard did you hit your head?” Connor laughs, and the whole thing is so ludicrous that he barely knows what to do. “We should get you to the hospital.” 

“No,” Kevin protests with a shake of the head, causing him to wince again which only worries Connor more. “No hospital.” 

“Kevin, you’re bleeding-” 

“I don’t have health insurance.” 

Connor blinks. “Well, that’s dumb.” 

“Take me to Ricky instead,” Kevin says, and he says it so casually that Connor thinks he might have gone insane. 

“What?” 

“Take me to Ricky. He can help.” 

“You can’t just say that and expect me to know who the hell you’re talking about.” 

Kevin sighs, turning his head to the side as if scanning the area. He brings a hand up to his face and pats the skin around his left eye, following the trickling blood up to his temple and to his forehead, where the stranger had made most damage, and then he brings his hand back down, inspecting it as if he hadn’t been convinced he’s bleeding at all. Connor is starting to think this is more serious than it had first appeared to be. 

“Where are we?” Kevin asks after a minute, closing his eyes. 

Connor frowns, sheer panic starting to brew in the back of his mind. “Stop fucking around, you’re scaring me.” 

“No, just,” Kevin groans, waving his arm about as if that would clarify things. “What side, what street?” 

“West,” Connor says, looking up to see if he can make out exactly where in Union Square Park they are. “16th, I think. Near Starbucks.” 

Kevin nods, and Connor fights the urge to tell him to stop moving his head so goddamn much. “I used to work on 39th street,” he says. “I know a guy.” 

“Kevin.” Connor reaches for his face again, wanting to wipe the blood off with something, but it’s eighty degrees and Connor is only wearing a t-shirt, so he settles for wiping away as much as he can with his thumb, before realizing he’s never been this intimate with Kevin, apart from their drunken karaoke incident, and quickly brings his hand back down. “Let’s just go to a hosp-” 

“Please,” Kevin says, and his voice is small enough to shatter at the faintest of touches. 

This is a bad idea if Connor has ever seen one. They are twenty blocks from where Kevin wants to go and people are already starting to throw them weird looks. Nevermind the fact that Kevin is still bleeding, and sure, it’s barely trickling but he’s probably lost some blood already and he’ll most likely lose more during the walk, and if anything happens to him, it’s all on Connor for not stepping in. For not intervening or helping him. Kevin had _attacked_ an armed mugger like it was nothing and Connor had covered his fucking eyes. 

He hopes to a God he’s lost faith in that Kevin had not noticed that. 

“Fine,” he acquiesces in the end, unsure whether it’s because Kevin is looking at him with something other than contempt for once or because he knows Kevin won’t stop until he gets his way. He gives in, realizing this is bigger than their games and offers him a hand. “Can you walk?” 

“Yeah, just,” Kevin winces as he stands, and Connor locks an arm around his waist for good measure. “Thanks.” 

The walk is awkward and painfully slow. Kevin’s legs seem to be working just fine, apart from the occasional limp that Kevin says is nothing, but they can’t walk at a very quick pace without him having to stop at every block. People are staring. Some have even come up and asked if they need help, an ambulance, whatever, and Kevin has been quick to turn down every offer before Connor could so much as open his mouth. 

He can’t help but feel bad, and it’s a very strange sensation that he’s never dreamed of aiming toward Kevin. Kevin usually doesn’t deserve sympathy, and Connor knows he’s too proud to accept it even now, if he were to offer it, which, let’s be honest, Connor never would. Every time he tries to ask if he’s alright, if he’s hurting or needs to slow down, Kevin shuts him down with conviction. But he can’t help but notice there’s a lack of bite in his protests and Connor worries for a second that it’s because of his blood loss and that perhaps he’s more injured than he’s letting on. 

“Alright there’s a pharmacy down the street, is that the place?” Connor asks as they round the corner of 39th street. 

“You think I used to be a pharmacist?” Kevin lets out an amused breath before pulling Connor toward the side. “It’s in here.” 

“Kevin, that’s an alleyway, you’re not-” Connor cuts himself off because not only are they stumbling into a dark alley, but they’re stumbling toward a neon sign that reads _Men of Sapphire_ and Connor nearly chokes on his spit. “Wait.” 

Kevin scoffs and makes for the door, seemingly with or without Connor’s support as he’s suddenly in a hurry to get inside. “Just shut up and help me find Ricky.” 

As soon as the door opens, Connor knows. He knows what kind of place they’re entering, knows exactly what to expect, and most importantly, he knows that Kevin used to work here. In a fucking strip club. 

“Whoa, this ain’t a hospital, fellas. Take it back outside,” a woman says as she approaches them from behind the bar, and Connor gets ready to head back through the door but Kevin keeps walking. 

“Crystal, it’s me,” he says, gesturing to his face that is certainly not doing him any favors right now, but despite dried blood and a black eye to be, the woman recognizes him. 

“Kevin?” she says, her brows knitting as she looks him up and down. “Jesus, what happened to you?” 

She throws a suspicious eye in Connor’s direction before Kevin can say, “It’s fine. He’s with me.” He waves his arm about again, and Connor takes it as a summoning, so he joins Kevin at his side as Kevin begrudgingly introduces them. Crystal’s eyes turn intrigued rather than suspicious then, and she gives him a look over that feels more intimate than anything Connor has experienced in months. 

Kevin, growing impatient with the pleasantries, gives an indiscreet sigh that catches both his and Crystal’s attention. “Is Ricky here?” 

“Backstage.” 

Kevin gives her a grateful nod and heads toward the back of the room, and Connor, despite his shocked state, follows him unquestionably. 

Or maybe he’s just kind of scared to be alone with Crystal. 

The place is filthy, from the floor to the ceiling and everything in between. This isn’t his first time in a strip club, but it might just be his last because the smell is making his eyes water and there’s just a hint of smoke in the air that somehow sticks to the back of his throat, and then he can’t just smell the alcohol and sweat and sex and drugs and god-knows-what, but he can taste it, too. It takes every muscle to keep from gagging, as they walk through a door that leads them backstage. 

“My, my, Elder Price,” a voice catches his attention and he turns his head to see a man approaching them with a grin on his face. He’s quite tall, fit, and dangerously handsome, but he’s simultaneously carrying a mop and seems to be wearing a janitor’s uniform, only the kind you’d buy in a Halloween store. It’s short and tightly fitted, shamelessly showing off a toned chest, and once he gets close enough, Connor notices his name tag says ‘Ricky the Manitor’. “That’s quite the shiner you got there.” 

Kevin smiles. “You should see the other guy.” 

“The other guy took off running with both our wallets,” Connor finds himself saying, and is suddenly flooded with emotions perfectly suited for such a location, yet incredibly unwelcome if Connor were to judge. 

“Ah, mugged?” Ricky says, giving Connor a once-over that reminds him of Crystal’s look but tenfold. “Yet you seem unscathed. How’s that?” 

Connor ignores the implied suspicion – he'd honestly take it as a compliment if it weren’t for the absurdity of it all. If these people want to assume Connor could have done _that_ to Kevin, then he’d gladly let them. Maybe his monthly gym visit is actually paying off. “Because this one has a hero complex,” he says instead, nudging Kevin with his elbow. “And zero impulse control.” 

Kevin rolls his eyes, only ruined by the wince that follows. “Shut up, McKinley.” 

“Now that’s the Kevin Price I remember,” Ricky laughs. “You’re gonna need a few stitches.” 

“Lucky I don’t have to rely on my looks to make a living anymore then,” Kevin says, and Connor bites his tongue not to let a “You do, though” slip out in response. 

Ricky leads them down a narrow hallway, doors open on either end and Connor can’t help but notice a few guys hanging around. He mainly can’t help but notice because they’re mostly undressed. Once they make it to the end, Ricky unlocks a door to what looks suspiciously like a janitor’s closet, and Connor wonders if he actually works here as one, rather than a dancer. 

“We’re gonna need a cleaner surface,” he says, digging through a drawer and pulling out a first aid kit. “The stage’ll do.” 

“The stage?” Connor parrots, because surely that can’t be the cleanest surface around here. 

“They hose that thing down every day, trust me,” Ricky flashes a grin. “I am they; I would know.” 

Connor thinks he’s seen most things by now, being twenty-seven and living in New York. But he sure as hell has never seen Kevin Price, beaten to a pulp and sitting in the middle of a stage in the strip club he once worked in. And now that he has seen it, it might just be the next best thing to Hamilton. 

He watches Ricky set up, then moves his gaze to Kevin who, unsurprisingly, is already watching Connor, and it’s strange because for once, he doesn’t know whether to poke fun at him or show genuine empathy. He isn’t used to feeling emphatic toward Kevin, and he isn’t sure he wants to let him in on that information just yet, so instead, he looks away. He can see Kevin closing his eyes in his peripheral view, and follows the movement of Ricky’s hands as they get to work. 

He’s never liked these kinds of things, lord knows he can’t even get a shot without looking away in horror, and Ricky seems to notice as he soon puts the needle in hand down and gestures for Connor to follow him as he walks away. 

Connor does, because what else is he supposed to do, really. 

“Is he going to be okay?” he asks once they stop at the bar. 

“Yeah, it’s just a minor scratch, don’t worry,” Ricky says, walking behind the counter. “I’ve seen a lot worse.” 

Connor frowns, watching Ricky pour a glass of water. “In general, or on him?” 

Ricky puts the glass down in front of Connor, adds a straw, then pauses. His eyes seem telling but Connor doesn’t even know what to look for and ends up short of any answers. “Both,” he says after a while, and it isn’t comforting in the slightest, but also not that big of a surprise. “He’s tough, though. I’ll fix him up for you, don’t worry.” 

Connor can’t respond before he’s off, and he watches him go back to a waiting Kevin. A smiling Kevin. A Kevin smiling at Ricky, an objectively handsome man that he seems awfully close to, not that Connor cares, of course. He decides he can’t watch and turns around, taking a seat on one of the barstools and sipping on his water. Now that’s a sorry sight – a lonely redhead drinking water in a desolate strip club. 

“We got stronger stuff, you know.” Connor turns his head and spots Crystal. “What’s your poison?” 

“I really shouldn’t be drinking, I have work tom-” 

“Babe, your boy’s being treated with rubbing alcohol, and you clearly need the drinking kind,” Crystal says, her eyes unyielding and Connor finds them difficult to turn down. That is, until she adds, “It’s on the house.” 

“Surprise me,” he says and Crystal seems up for the challenge. “Just so long as it’s sweet enough to hide the actual alcohol. That’d be perfect.” 

“Coming up,” Crystal smiles and gets to work. A few moments later, a tall drink is placed in front of him on the counter, and it looks absolutely stunning, if that’s a reasonable way to describe a drink. He takes a sip and good lord, the liquids are dancing in his mouth, making love to his taste buds with the slightest hint of vodka hidden behind the melony flavor. He breathes a pleased sigh as Crystal cocks an eyebrow. “What’s the verdict?” 

“A+,” he says. “With a star on the side.” 

Crystal laughs. “That’s the most innocent compliment I've ever received in this bar.” 

Connor smiles as he goes back for another sip, glancing around the eerily empty room they’re in and he isn’t sure if it’s because it’s a Tuesday but he can’t help but wonder why exactly the place is so quiet. 

“Is it normally this empty?” he asks and Crystal shoots him a puzzled look that Connor responds by gesturing lazily to the room. 

“Depends,” she says, getting back to cleaning the bartop. “Some nights are slower than others. Guess this is one of ‘em.” 

“Okay,” Connor says, suddenly smiling broadly as he leans forward on his elbows. Crystal watches him with confounded yet amused eyes, and Connor can feel his cheeks flush slightly before regaining his confidence. “Since it’s a slow night and you probably don’t have that much to do, let’s talk.” 

Crystal considers him carefully as if trying to read his mind and for the briefest of moments, Connor fears she might be able to. “About what?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Connor shrugs, his voice discreetly innocent as he nods his head toward the stage. “Him.” 

Connor watches as realization flashes in her eyes before a knowing grin quirks her lips upward. “Ah,” she says. “What do you wanna know?” 

“Only everything,” Connor says. “He used to work here?” 

“What, he never told you about his glorious job as a stripper?” 

Connor nearly scoffs but is somehow able to stop himself last second as he glances back to the two men by the stage. “We aren’t really close like that.” 

Crystal takes a moment to just watch him again and it is almost exactly as intimidating as the first time. There’s something about her eyes, cold and gray, that simply pushes past the many layers Connor has shielded himself behind, as if they’re nothing but glass easily shattered. “So I take it you’re not a boyfriend, then?” she asks and Connor chokes on his drink. 

“God no,” he coughs as Crystal watches in Connor doesn’t know what. 

“How exactly do you know him?” 

“We kinda work tog- Oh shit, the trucks,” Connor remembers midsentence that they had walked here and left their trucks behind. “What time is it?” 

“Ten forty-eight on the dot.” 

“Sorry, I just gotta, um.” Connor doesn’t finish. Instead, he gets up from his seat, fishes his phone out of his pocket and sends Naba a text asking her if she and Arnold can move their trucks home or to the Brooklyn Commissary and whatever one Kevin is signed with. 

_“On it,”_ comes Naba’s reply in less than a minute, and Connor breathes a sigh of relief as he puts his phone back. 

“So you’re in the food truck biz, too?” Crystal asks once Connor settles down again, and he nods in response. “How is it?” 

“It’s nice,” Connor shrugs, picking the straw from his glass of water and puts it in his drink instead. “But I'd much rather talk about Kevin and exactly what his work here entailed. If you don’t mind, that is.” 

“You’re nosy,” she says with a smile. “I like it. He did most things, I guess. The usual.” 

“Like what? Lap dances, stripping,” Connor leans forward, as if sharing sensitive information in a stupidly public area, “ _more_?” 

Crystal snorts. “This is a strip club, not a brothel,” she says. “But yeah, stuff like that. He knew how to appease the ladies; he knew how to get tip. He was definitely a crowd favorite. Not that that’s surprising though, with that face.” 

“He’s not that good looking.” 

Crystal laughs. “Is that why you’re still sitting here, waiting for him to get stitched up?” 

Connor doesn’t answer. He screws up his face in what he hopes conveys disgust but is worried lets on more than he’ll ever admit out loud. Truth is, he’s not sure why he’s still here. Maybe it’s the guilt of being the reason he needs medical attendance in the first place, maybe it’s the intrigue of learning things about him that he never would have otherwise. Whichever reason crowns itself the winner, he’s certain it doesn’t really matter at all. Because the truth is, he doesn’t want to leave. 

At least not yet. At least not without as much information as he can possibly get. 

“How long was he here for?” he asks after a while, pretending not to be fazed by Crystal’s implication. Whether it works or not, he couldn’t tell if he so wanted to. Reading Crystal is like his dick most mornings – very hard and relentless until given a nudge. 

“Two months, give or take,” she says, seemingly noticing Connor’s confusion as she continues. “It’s pretty average. Most people either stick around for a few months or their entire lives, there really isn’t much of an in-between. Price moved on to greener pastures, I suppose. Unlike some of us.” 

“Oh,” leaves Connor’s mouth before he knows it and he quickly bites it back, watching Crystal’s gaze fall on the one acquaintance they have in common. “I’m sure you could get a job in another bar, you know. If you wanted to.” 

Crystal brings her eyes back to Connor, and she looks almost amused as cocks an eyebrow at his insightful comment. “Oh babe,” she laughs, giving him a face that feels more pitying if anything. “I own the place.” 

Connor instinctively closes his eyes and brings a hand up to rub his temple as he winces with immediate regret. “Shit, I am so sorry. I had no idea.” 

“Don’t be. It’s a shithole, but it’s my shithole,” she smiles, grabbing his now empty highball glass, and before Connor can stop her, pours him another drink. “Kevin’s a good dude, though,” she says when presenting him with an equally sweet, although this time a pineapple-tasting, mix of liquors. “He puts on an act, a smile. But he’s not as tough as he looks. Or at least not as tough as he likes to consider himself being.” 

Connor can’t help but glance back toward the stage, and when he does, he can’t help noticing Kevin is already watching him. Or perhaps he’s watching Crystal, Connor’s brain is quick to add. Perhaps he’s not at all interested in finding out whatever Connor is doing, because why would he be? Would he even care if Connor left right now? Is him still being here weird, or is him leaving now weirder? Suddenly, a thousand thoughts are flooding his brain and he isn’t sure which ones to tune out and which ones to heed. 

Since his head feels as though it might implode at any given moment, his gut instinct seems to have everything sorted already, as he hears himself ask, “Why did he start working here?” before he even realized that was a thought he wanted to be answered. 

Crystal hesitates for the first time since they met and Connor doesn’t like it one bit. “I think that’s something you might wanna ask him.” 

“I don’t wanna ask him,” Connor deadpans to which Crystal narrows her eyes, but in a way that is more intrigued than it is suspicious. “I want to get as much dirt as possible on him so I can use it to blackmail him when the opportunity presents itself.” 

It’s _mostly_ true, anyway. 

“You know, I like you – Connor, was it?” she says, Connor nods. “And by the looks of it, he does too – no, don’t turn around, he’s still watching, trust me – and I know what game you’re playing. I’ve seen it before, but if there’s one thing I know about Price, it’s that he doesn’t lose. You can have him in a stranglehold and he’ll still consider himself the winner.” 

Connor frowns. None of what Crystal just said is any news to him, but hearing it from someone else than himself is disturbing in a sense he can’t quite describe. He’s always assumed Kevin acts as he does around Connor even when Connor isn’t there, but since getting to know him a bit better over the past few weeks, he keeps finding himself proven wrong a lot of the time. But this, hearing it from someone who used to know him – who might still know him, for all Connor knows – is suddenly fueling the part of his brain that tries to convince him that Kevin plays these games with everyone. That Connor isn’t special in any way, and it shouldn’t be upsetting, it shouldn’t even matter to him at all, but it does and that’s a rabbit hole for another day. 

He shakes it off as Crystal speaks again. “What I'm saying is, you might wanna quit while you’re ahead.” She offers a knowing look that Connor doesn’t know how to read, reminding himself of _very hard and relentless_ , as he cocks an eyebrow, nudging her to elaborate. “Unless you’re looking to get stuck, that is. I’ll admit you are kinda different from the guys he used to bring here, so who knows, you might stand a fair chance against him.” 

And just like that, Connor’s ears perk up because that’s information he wasn’t aware existed, and more so, it’s information he wasn’t aware he craved. “What guys did he use to bring, then?” 

Crystal laughs. “You’re sweet,” she says with a smile as she throws a glance past Connor. “And very obvious. That goes for both of you.”

* * *

_Slice of Life  
June 9th  
11:02pm _

“Finally got yourself a good one, huh?” 

Kevin barely moves his eyes from where they’re glued to the back of Connor’s head, and regrets he ever did once he sees the implying look Ricky is shooting him. “What?” 

“Him,” Ricky says, nodding his head toward the bar and Kevin follows the gesture with his eyes, once again letting them rest on ridiculously reddish hair. “He seems like a good dude.” 

Kevin frowns. “We’re not dating if that’s what you’re getting at.” 

Although he can’t see Ricky’s face, he can just about hear the way his forehead creases as he raises his brows, before an anticipated, “Really?” rolls off his tongue. 

“Yeah,” Kevin shrugs, holding back a wince as Ricky breaks skin again. “We’re just... I don’t know. He hates me, I hate him. That kinda thing.” 

“Right,” Ricky snorts and Kevin resists the urge to roll his eyes so hard they fall out of their sockets. “That’s why he’s still here – because he hates you.” 

Kevin sighs. He hates when people think they know him better than he knows himself. Hates when people try to solve problems that don’t even exist. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. His grandmother used to tell him that when he was little and he has always lived by her teachings. Maybe because she was the one grownup in his life that didn’t cite scripture at him every time he asked for help or needed guidance. She was just as Mormon as the rest of them, but she didn’t let it control her every thought and that is something Kevin – even before losing his faith – had always admired about her. 

“He wanted me to go to a hospital,” he says as if that explains things. “I asked him to bring me here instead.” 

“Well, most of the guys I remember you brought here would just drop you at the door and take off,” Ricky says before going in for another stitch and Kevin can see him focus through the corner of his eye. “He’s still here.” 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Kevin shrugs, which is an extremely terrible idea since the movement forces the needle deeper than it needs to go, which elicits a something between a sigh and groan from Ricky as he puts a hand on Kevin’s shoulder to keep him in place. “He just – _ow_ – he just feels obligated, probably.” 

Ricky lets go of his shoulder, drops the needle, and dabs the now-stitched wound with another cotton pad and it stings just as much as it had the first time, forcing Kevin to wince out of pain. 

“You’re smarter than that.” 

Kevin turns to look at him, and Ricky’s eyes don’t mirror Kevin’s confusion at all. “I don’t know that I am,” he says, and Ricky lets out an amused breath as he shakes his head. 

Ricky gives the stitches one more inspection before he leans back, tilts his head, and says, “All done,” to which Kevin only nods. 

He’s still watching Connor, unashamedly now, and he knows that Ricky knows and somehow, it’s still okay. He doesn’t quite believe the notion that Connor is here for any reason other than feeling obliged though, but it is strange, now that he thinks about it. Connor didn’t have to stay. He could have left knowing Kevin was in hands he trusted to help him, but instead, he’d stayed. Waited. Is still waiting and Kevin doesn’t know why or what it means or if it doesn’t mean anything at all and he’s simply reading into things the way he always does. 

After a moment, he realizes he’s staring – has been staring for a good few minutes now – and turns to look at Ricky again, but his friend and former colleague is one step ahead as usual and before he can offer a “Thank you,”, Ricky nods his head toward the bar with an encouraging nudge to his side. 

“Go get him,” he says, and Kevin just might heed his advice for once. 

He walks over. He knows he does because the bar and the back of Connor’s head are both coming closer and closer, and still, he can’t feel his legs moving. 

“You’re sweet,” he hears Crystal say as she notices him approaching. “And very obvious. That goes for both of you.” 

“Hey,” Kevin says and nearly laughs when Connor jumps out of his seat. “I’m good to go.” 

“Don’t sneak up like that,” Connor bites, clutching a hand over his heart and Kevin doesn’t miss the way his cheeks redden as he looks Kevin up and down. “You alright?” 

“Well, my face feels like it’s just been pierced by several needles,” he says dumbly and watches Connor’s eyes widen slightly as they fill with confusion. So he clarifies, “Because it’s just been pierced by several needles. But I'm fine.” 

“Good,” Connor says, clicking his tongue as he gives the stitches on Kevin’s forehead an extra glance before allowing a smile to worm itself onto his lips. “I was just talking to Crystal about your, um, history here.” 

“Of course, you were.” Kevin rolls his eyes, giving Crystal a warning that is doubtlessly too little, too late. “Bet she told you lots of interesting things.” 

“Only the PG stuff,” she winks, but Kevin believes her. There’s a lot to be said about Crystal, but she knows not to meddle in other people’s business. So long as they don’t interfere with hers, that is. 

“Alright, well, I'm heading out,” he says, turning his head back to Connor who looks ridiculously innocent, sipping on a drink with nothing but ice remaining. “You coming with or are you staying here?” 

Connor smiles. “Well, it’s tempting, but I do have work in the morning.” 

And Kevin realizes only then that he does too. 

It’s half-past eleven once they make it back out on the street, yet the air is still pleasantly warm and the winds are cool enough to soothe his burning skin, but not cold enough to make him shiver. It’s a hot night, in more ways than temperature-wise because the stitches on his face are stinging with pain and Connor is annoyingly tipsy in a way that makes him walk just the tiniest bit closer and makes his eyes linger long enough for Kevin to notice. It makes him uncomfortable, but not for the reason he would have preferred. 

“So,” Connor says after they’ve been walking for a while. 

“So?” Kevin parrots and he wonders if this is all part of the game, and if it is, who’s winning. 

“A stripper, huh?” Connor grins and Kevin makes a show of rolling his eyes. “Were you gonna tell me that or was I just supposed to figure it out on my own?” 

“I’d rather you forget about it,” Kevin says. “I don’t trust you with that kind of information.” 

“Oh, what am I gonna do, tell your already drooling customers that you can give them lap dances as well?” 

Kevin laughs. He doesn’t scoff or sigh or groan, he fucking laughs, and he immediately bites his tongue to stop himself. Thankfully, Connor doesn’t seem to notice. Or at least not care enough to poke fun at him. “I didn’t really do lap dances.” 

“According to Crystal you did.” 

“Well, yeah, I did it occasionally, but it wasn’t really my thing,” Kevin shrugs and hopes Connor will settle with that. 

He doesn’t, of course. “What was your thing then?” 

Kevin gives him a look but Connor only blinks in response and maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s the fact that the clock is nearing midnight and everything feels so much easier this late, but he concedes faster than he’ll ever be able to live down. “Dancing, I guess – or not _dancing_ dancing, but you know, being on stage and all that. Giving a show, getting praise, and, yeah.” 

Connor smiles, an eyebrow cocked knowingly. “Of course you get off on praise. Figures.” 

“I don’t - Oh, fuck off, McKinley.” He gives Connor a shove as the man laughs and the sound that should sound grating and shrill is soft and almost melodic. Kevin blames the alcohol. “Don’t you have a short, light, and ugly creep to meet up with, anyway?” 

Connor shrugs, turning his face away and talking to the air. “Not feeling it.” 

Kevin smiles. 

They walk in silence for a while before Connor turns back toward him and says, “Why’d you do it?” 

“I dunno,” Kevin says. The question feels private and he’d normally go to great lengths avoiding the subject, yet his inhibitions are nowhere to be found. “It paid well.” 

“I feel like one has to go through several life-altering decisions before ending up working at a strip club,” Connor ponders. “Money can’t have been the only issue.” 

“Since when are you so insightful?” Kevin laughs – again, _laughs!_ “I guess it was kinda fun, too, you know? I mean, why did you pursue acting? It’s the thrill of it all, right?” 

“Please don’t ever compare my career to stripping again,” Connor says, wrinkling his nose but smiling regardless. “But yeah, I guess that makes sense.” 

Kevin isn’t sure what else to say. This already feels like an absurd conversation and he’s certain they’ll both regret it in the morning. Unfortunately, he’s also quite certain that Connor is the only one walking away with new and useful information, while Kevin is left vulnerable and exposed, and he knows it’d be best to stop, right here, right now, still, his legs keep moving and there’s nothing he can do about it. 

Or perhaps he doesn’t _want_ to do something about it. 

“Maybe that’s what you’re supposed to do,” Connor says. “Performing.” 

“Yeah, funny.” Kevin rolls his eyes. “Ha ha, you’re hilarious.” 

“I’m serious. I mean, between Arnold’s play, the karaoke, and this?” Connor stops walking and it takes Kevin a few steps before he realizes and turns around to a Connor with no trace of teasing clouding his eyes. “Common denominator is a stage. And you on it.” 

“I’m not a performer, Connor.” 

Connor tilts his head slightly, but shrugs it off with a, “If you say so.” and Kevin wonders if he’s beginning to sober up. “Why’d you quit then?” 

“Honestly,” Kevin starts and is already regretting being anything near honest with Connor at this moment. “I would probably have kept at it way longer than I did. Being back in my missionary uniform was, well, actually surprisingly nice, in a way, and-” 

“Wait,” Connor interjects, a smile playing dangerously on his lips. “Your _missionary uniform_? Is that why Ricky called you Elder Price?” 

Kevin hadn’t realized his mistake. Fuck. “I needed a character,” he says, trying to sound as indifferent about the matter as humanly possible, but he knows he’s failing quite miserably. “Figured I'd use the one I've played since childhood.” 

“I bet the girls loved that,” Connor teases and Kevin rolls his eyes, which feels a lot more familiar, and thankfully so. “There’s nothing like a little internalized religious oppression to get you going.” 

Kevin can’t help but laugh. “You’d be surprised,” he says, but looking at Connor, he feels as though he’s already perfectly aware of what Kevin is implying. 

“So why’d you quit?” Connor repeats as he starts walking again and Kevin follows without question. “I interrupted you.” 

“Oh, uh, well, like I said, it felt surprisingly good being back in the uniform, up until,” he trails off, suddenly hesitant or maybe even nervous, and that’s not a good look on Kevin Price so he shakes it off as best he can and ignores the remnants of reluctance weighing down his brain. “Up until a fight broke out between one of the other dancers and, I don’t know, some guy, and I got caught in the middle trying to break them up. I don’t really remember the details of it all but one of them punched the other square in the nose and the blood was just, _gushing_ , all over the floor, the drinks, the guests,” he takes a deep breath before continuing, “my shirt, and suddenly, I was back in Uganda.” 

“Oh.” 

Kevin swallows hard, and he wouldn’t be surprised if some of his pride went down with it. “It was probably for the best, anyway,” he says, and shrugging seems unnecessary as it wouldn’t contribute anything new to his words. “I can’t believe I just told you that. I might have to kill you now.” 

Connor is smiling when he turns to look at him, but it’s different this time. It’s kind, understanding. Those aren’t qualities Connor ever offered Kevin, and he isn’t sure if he wants them now, either. Especially not if he’s only showing them out of pity. Kevin doesn’t want pity, he never has, and he most certainly doesn’t want it from Connor McKinley. 

“You know,” Connor says, turning his head away and glancing up at the sky that would probably be starry if not covered by layers of smog. “I think this is the most candid conversation we’ve ever had.” 

Kevin smiles. “Well, we can’t let that be.” 

Connor smiles back. “Decidedly not.”

* * *

_Against the Grain_  
_June 10th  
2:34am _

They’ve been walking for hours. Mostly in silence since they crossed Manhattan Bridge, and it should be so much weirder than it is. Especially considering Kevin is still walking beside him. 

“I can’t help but notice we’re in Brooklyn,” Connor says once they make it past Prospect Park and Kevin gives him an amused look. 

“Stellar observation, Galileo,” he says. “What gave it away, the mile-long bridge or all the hipster coffee shops we’ve passed since?” 

“Let me be more specific,” Connor says. “I can’t help but notice _you’re_ in Brooklyn.” 

Kevin feigns confusion. Quite terribly, too. “What about it?” 

“I seem to recall your apartment being in Washington Heights.” 

“Hmm,” Kevin says, and that’s it. He doesn’t elaborate or give any indication as to why he’s practically walked Connor home, and now that the alcohol is starting to wear off and the liquid confidence he’d relied quite heavily on before is gone, he doesn’t know what else to say. He’s already spinning webs of speculations in his head, overanalyzing everything until he isn’t sure what memories are real and which one’s he’s concocted in his mind. 

This feels like a good dream lulling him into a sense of security, only to be followed by nightmares he’s still unable to kick, despite leaving the Church years ago. And he calls them nightmares because he refuses to give them any more power than they already possess. Hell Dreams aren’t worthy of the name because Connor is certain that if there is such a place, he’s already lived it for eighteen years straight. No pun intended, for once. 

“Well,” he says, coming to a stop at the stairs leading up to the entrance of his and Naba’s apartment complex. “This is me.” 

“Figures,” Kevin says, looking around with tired eyes. Connor kind of feels bad, the man has probably been up for twenty hours at the very least and on top of that, has had his face beaten blue. “The building looks like shit.” 

Connor takes it back. “At least I'm home,” he says, crossing his arms as he considers Kevin. They’re leveled now that Connor is standing on the first step of the stairs. In fact, he’s slightly taller, since their height difference is merely two or so inches, but it still feels different, watching him from this perspective. “Enjoy your three-hour walk back.” 

“There’s a subway station right there,” Kevin says, pointing his thumb to the left but keeping his eyes locked with Connor’s. 

“I know,” Connor says, holding Kevin’s gaze despite himself. 

It’s quiet. The gradually brightening sky above them is still dark enough to offer something resembling privacy even though they’re outside, the world watching from the windows climbing seven floors above them but it’s late, Connor thinks, and he doesn’t give a shit what people think anyway. 

Kevin leans, in such an obvious way that it nearly makes Connor’s breath hitch, but neither makes a move. Apparently, they are this predictable. Chasing after each other with nothing to say, waiting for each other to get stitched up in a strip joint, walking each other home without reason beyond wanting to. They’ve been reduced to unspoken attraction and they both know it, that he’s sure of. But making the move might mean losing the war, and it seems they’re both still playing this never-ending game of cat and mouse, will they, won’t they, get-over-yourselves-and-just-fucking-kiss-already and it’s a bad idea waiting to happen. 

“I should probably go,” Kevin says after a while and Connor watches his lips move. 

“Probably.” 

Kevin parts his lips slightly and Connor can feel his breath on his skin and it isn’t at all causing a flurry of emotions to awaken in the pit of his stomach. “See you tomorrow, McKinley.” 

“Yeah,” is all he gets out before Kevin turns around and walks off, and Connor watches as he disappears around a corner without throwing a single look back and quickly reminds himself that he doesn’t want him to. Shouldn’t want him to, anyhow, and retreats to his apartment where he can hide in the comfort of an empty bed and the memory of hot breath on cool skin that doesn’t make him shiver _at all_. 

Tomorrow – or today, considering the time – is rapidly becoming a reality he isn’t sure he’s quite ready to face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean for this to bee this long, there was actually a bunch of other things that were supposed to happen in this chapter but I don't think I've ever posted a chapter on any fic that was this long, so I figured why not just post it as is. Also, I didn't proofread this because I forgot and then it was suddenly 2:30am and I really wanted it out today so please, bear that in mind if you find typos galore.  
> ¨  
> I know it's a bit lacking in the humor department and I hope it wasn't too angsty or drab or whatever. It's only for now, I swear. Mostly for now, anyway.
> 
> If you enjoyed it, please let me know! It means so much, it's almost ridiculous. Kudos are always appreciated as well, of course. Hope you're all doing well, and sorry for the lack of Arnaba in this chapter. It hurts my soul but hey, they'll be back soon!
> 
> And yes, that is a real strip club. Can you imagine how incredibly awkward I felt googling strip clubs in nyc and checking which ones were in (kinda) walking distance from Union Park because I can. It was very awkward. 
> 
> Stay safe everyone!


	6. Keep Your Eyes on the Price

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Against the Grain_ \- Connor's POV  
>  _Slice of Life_ \- Kevin's POV

#### 

Keep Your Eyes on the Price 

_Slice of Life  
June 10th   
4:17am _

It’s past four in the morning once he makes it back home, and hell, he’s barely even tired. Exhaustion should be blocking his senses, should knock him out to get some rest but his brain is buzzing and there’s just a hint of, well, something, brewing in the pit of his stomach. What exactly, he isn’t quite sure of, but he’s most certain it is all Connor’s fault. 

It’s easier to blame him, anyway. 

He stumbles through the door, trying to be as quiet as possible as he locks it behind him. Arnold’s probably sleeping and sure, his friend could sleep through ten alarms, their neighbors blasting music the entire night, and police sirens going off every twenty minutes, but he also has an impeccable ability to catch Kevin red-handed. Not that he’s ever in the act of doing something that’s cause for alarm, but Arnold is nosy and seems to believe best friends should share every detail of their lives with each other. Including late-night rendezvouses and – in Arnold’s on words – how amazeballs Naba is in bed. 

Kevin could do without that information. 

He makes for his bedroom but gets no further than two steps before a light flickers on and a figure appears on the couch. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Arn,” he pants, hands on his knees as he catches his breath. “You scared the living shit outta me.” 

Arnold smiles, and it’s just a tad too knowing for Kevin’s liking. “Where have you been?” 

“Is my face no indication?” Kevin says, gesturing to the stitches on his forehead. “I was at Crystal’s.” 

“Yeah, yeah, you got punched, I know all that,” Arnold says. “I mean, Naba told me Connor got home over an hour ago and I know Sapphire is closer to here than it is Brooklyn.” 

Kevin rolls his eyes. He should have anticipated this; Arnold has a way of finding out the truth despite Kevin’s best efforts of hiding it. “Oh, just spit it out already. What’s your point?” 

Arnold grins. “Did you walk him home?” 

“Okay, how the fuck is that your first guess.” Kevin glares, Arnold shrugs. “How would you know that?” 

“Naba saw you,” he says, eyebrows wiggling ridiculously. “Gettin’ all cozy.” 

“Of course, she did.” Kevin wants to laugh but all that makes it out is an amused breath and he blames his brain being mush. “We weren’t getting cozy, though. Whatever that means. I just felt like getting some air after everything, which mind you, I’m fine by the way. Thanks for asking.” 

“We both know that barely constitutes as an injury in you-terms,” Arnold says. “What, a black eye and some bruises? Remember that time you broke your hand trying to punch the Columbus statue?” 

“I do,” Kevin says, a twitch in his lip that he doesn’t have the energy to resist. “And I still stand by that.” 

“Doesn’t that thing symbolize Italian Americans or something like that?” Arnold ponders with feigned focus. “I feel like I read an article about it in the Times.” 

Kevin doesn’t answer. Instead, he leans against the doorframe, crosses his arms, and cocks an eyebrow, until Arnold finally gives in. 

“Fine, I saw it on Reddit once,” he says, grimacing. “Either way, you’re half Italian. That’s your people, isn’t it?” 

“Well, it also symbolizes colonialization and the deaths of countless natives,” Kevin says and is amused by how surprised Arnold seems that he’s still able to argue despite nearly falling asleep where he stands. “I think Italians are barely the worse off minority, so.” 

Arnold leans back, smiling again. “You got a point,” he says. “Punching a statue is still pretty stupid, though.” 

“I never claimed to be smart, Arn,” Kevin says, with a faint smile that he’s not sure makes it all the way to his lips. “But I have almost been up for twenty-four hours straight so unless you have more prying to do, I’m going to bed.” 

“I can pry tomorrow,” Arnold laughs. “Sleep tight, bud.” 

Kevin wants to ask whether he has slept yet or is going to sleep anytime soon because it’s four-thirty in the morning and that’s far too early to be awake for Arnold’s standards, but the exhaustion has finally hit him and he might just fall asleep on the spot if he doesn’t lay down soon. He’ll find out in less than three hours when he has to get up anyway, and he barely feels his head hit the pillow before his brain shuts off.

* * *

_Slice of Life  
June 10th   
10:28am _

Kevin can barely keep his eyes open, and maybe that’s a good thing since the looks he’s getting from people walking past are less than flattering. It’s his face, his eye – the black eye, the beaten and bruised black eye that never should have happened because Kevin’s an idiot and strangers are strong. Apparently. Not to mention Connor. 

So he doesn’t. 

It doesn’t hurt too bad, which is thankful but also surprising. This isn’t Kevin’s first rodeo, but he knows dwelling on last night is no use because it’ll make him frown which will make his forehead crease which could cause the stitches to break open. So, to the best of his efforts, he tries to ignore Connor when he rolls in around ten-thirty, but unfortunately, that’s a task easier said than done. 

Connor sets up without paying him any attention and it is simultaneously relieving and aggravating. Kevin doesn’t watch, but not watching means he has to come to terms with the fact that he, honestly, kind of wants to. And that’s just cruel if anything. 

“Hey,” Connor says when he finally turns toward him, but there’s no bite to it. Kevin can’t read his face for all the money in the world. 

“Hi,” he says instead, and that’s it. They both go back to mind their own, and it leaves a bitter taste in Kevin’s mouth. He had expected worse. A lot worse, considering Connor scored some dangerous additions to his arsenal yesterday, but either he doesn’t plan to use them today or maybe he’s too tired. Kevin doesn’t trust he’s safe, either way, and best be it not to poke the bear who knows he used to take his clothes off for money.

* * *

_Against the Grain  
June 10th   
8:54pm _

It’s been such a weird day. Such an absurd day and Connor isn’t sure he prefers it to the usual stick up his ass called Kevin Price. He’d anticipated tension, maybe even understanding but this, this was just _wrong_. They spoke two words. Two words in eight hours, that’s got to be some kind of record. At least in their book. 

It’s even weirder considering Connor has rehearsal tomorrow and won’t be able to work, so that makes it two words in two days and that should be a lot more relieving than it actually feels. He doesn’t miss him; he just misses the adrenaline. The bite. The never knowing what to expect even when expecting the unexpected, because Kevin Price is a wildcard if Connor has ever seen one and it’s starting to be more intriguing than irritating. 

Which, in and of itself, is irritating beyond belief. 

Naba joins him on the couch as RuPaul’s Drag Race starts rolling on the tv, and it’s an episode they’ve seen before, so Connor knows there won’t be much watching at all. 

“So,” Naba says, sing-songy and knowing. “Are you gonna tell me where you guys were all night?” 

Connor laughs. “No.” 

“Oh, come on,” Naba whines, giving him a light shove to the shoulder. “Why not?” 

“Because, I…” Connor has to stop and think, he honestly isn’t sure why not. “It doesn’t matter.” 

It isn’t that he doesn’t _want_ to tell her, because he does. More than anything. Connor wants to tell every single person he sees that Kevin Price used to be a fucking stripper. 

But he doesn’t. And he won’t. He knows what it’s like to have secrets, he knows what it’s like to hide his past. Had he found out a month ago, or really only two weeks prior, the thought wouldn’t even cross his mind, but he knows Kevin differently now. Different how he doesn’t know. But it’s different – _they_ are different, and hell, even Kevin deserves one embarrassing detail to go unaired to the world. 

“You know the less you say, the more I’m just gonna believe you guys finally porked.” 

“Oh. My. Word, Nabulungi.” Connor wrinkles his nose as she grins back. “What are you, a fourteen-year-old boy?” 

“Fine,” she laughs. “Doinked.” 

“That’s hardly better,” Connor says, trying to look disapproving but it’s proving itself difficult when Naba’s vocabulary seems to have shrunken twofold. “And here I thought you were the mature one of us.” 

Naba shrugs, the smile on her face damn near infectious. “Arnold’s rubbing off on me,” she says, and Connor can’t help but laugh. “But did you do it?” 

“Uh uh.” Connor shakes his head dramatically. “Not guilty!” 

“You can’t distract me by quoting Chicago,” Naba says, and Connor fights the urge to prove her wrong. “Answer the question.” 

Instead, he gives. “What do you think, Naba?” he sighs loudly, because Connor McKinley is just the right amount melodramatic, and anyone who disagrees can die, go to hell, be reincarnated as their old self and given a second chance at life, and then die again. “Of course not. That’s insane of you to even suggest.” 

Naba only smiles, albeit pityingly in that way she does sometimes. Connor is not a fan. “Oh, sweet Connor. Sweet, stupid, oblivious Connor. I’m gonna say this slowly, okay? So you can get it through that thick head of yours,” she says, leaning forward in a comically condescending way that kind of makes Connor laugh despite himself. “He wanted to kiss you that night, or he wouldn’t have leaned in.” 

“He didn’t lean in.” Connor rolls his eyes with a groan. “He just took a fist to his head a couple of hours earlier, he probably couldn’t keep his balance.” 

Naba tilts her head to one side as she watches him, and for once, her eyes are completely illegible. “You’re smarter than that,” she says, and Connor can’t do anything but sigh. 

She’s right. Naba is always right when it comes to these things. It’s like she’s got a sixth sense for telling when Connor is purposefully denying the truth. 

“I don’t wanna be.” 

Naba frowns. “Why is this so hard for you, Con?” she says. “Are you honestly gonna sit here and tell me you don’t want him to kiss you? That you don’t want him to-“ 

“If you say ‘pork you’, I’m literally jumping out the window.” 

“Drama queen,” she laughs, leaning against the side of the couch and poking him with her foot. “You can’t tell me I’m wrong though.” 

Connor glares but he’s unfortunately quite bad at masking his emotions around Naba who only needs to raise her eyebrows a millimeter before Connor lets out a childish groan. 

“This is Kevin fucking Price we’re talking about. He’s literally everything I hate wrapped up in one person,” he complains. “I don’t want that – I don’t _want_ to want that.” 

“That’s the thing, babe,” Naba smiles. “Love ain’t fair.” 

Connor nearly gags. “I’m not in love with him, that’s disgusting.” He wrinkles his nose while Naba holds back a giggle. “I just think he’s… somewhat decent looking.” 

Naba shakes her head with a laugh. “Right,” she says, turning to face the tv again. “Well, at least we made some progress today.” 

Connor shoots her a glare, but it seems she’s done explaining his own feelings to him as a new episode starts, and if he’s honest, he’s quite relieved. It’s one thing to dissect whatever emotions Kevin’s arousing in him on his own in a dark bedroom with nothing but red-hot memories, but to have someone else validating those thoughts are more unnerving than they are comforting.

* * *

_Slice of Life  
June 10th   
8:54pm _

They barely spoke today. Barely said two words and it’s been gnawing at his brain all night. Connor still hasn’t used the latest ace up his sleeve and all Kevin can do watch his back. 

Which is why he nearly has a heart attack when Arnold leans down over the back of the couch. 

“Hey buddy,” he says while Kevin regains his ability to breathe normally. 

“What do you want, Arnold?” he asks, because he knows his best friend well enough to see the mischievous glint in his eyes and that it most certainly meant Arnold was up to something. 

“How are you?” 

“I’m fine, thanks.” Kevin turns around and isn’t very surprised at all to see Arnold is practically wiggling with, Kevin isn’t sure what, but he suspects it’s got something to do with redhaired elephant in the room. 

“Really?” Arnold dances while keeping his elbows propped up on the back of the couch and his chin resting in his hands. 

Kevin sighs. “Yes, really.” 

“Are you though?” Arnold says. “Just fine?” 

“You know, I’m really not a big fan of this game,” Kevin says, turning back to face the tv with a grunt. Well, he says grunt. It’s regretfully more of a whine, but it’s hardly worse than what Arnold’s doing. “Just tell me what you want already.” 

Arnold stands back up, crawls onto the couch from the back quite ungracefully, and lands right beside Kevin with a beaming smile and poorly hidden excitement. “Why was Connor with you at Crystal’s yesterday?” 

Kevin rolls his eyes. Of course, it’s about that. Of course, Arnold can’t just let Kevin have a late-night adventure accompanied by the worst person on the planet without demanding every single detail. “I already told you. I asked him to bring me there because I got punched in the fucking face and needed medical attention.” 

Arnold isn’t satisfied. “But why did he stay?” he says, inching closer because what is personal space and boundaries to Arnold Cunningham if not what Jar Jar Binks is to the prequels? Completely pointless. Actually, Kevin takes that back. What is personal space and boundaries to Arnold if not what Star Wars is to Kevin? Completely pointless and unfortunately something that exists regardless. “Why did you walk him home?” 

“I don’t know,” Kevin says. “And I did not walk him home. He walked home and I… walked to Brooklyn. For unrelated reasons.” 

Arnold snorts. “Right.” 

“I don’t wanna talk about this,” Kevin groans and kicks his feet onto the coffee table in front of them, sinking down in the couch until his back is level with the seat cushion and his neck hurts from being stupidly bent. Kevin is not childish, he’s just above maturity in certain situations. 

“Okay, fine,” Arnold says and is audibly annoyed. “How was Crystal? She doing alright?” 

“Yeah, I think so,” Kevin says, thinking back and he realizes he just complained about the topic of discussion yet he can’t help but let “I know she told Connor some stuff, though,” slip past his lips. 

“About you?” 

“No, about her secret life as a Russian spy,” Kevin bites. “What do you think?” 

“Hey, now that’s an idea,” Arnold laughs. “Maybe I should write my next play about that.” 

“How are you already planning your next play when you’re in the middle of doing this one?” 

Arnold shrugs, a sheepish grin on his face that could mean just about anything. “One step ahead.” 

“You’ve never been one step ahead, Arnold,” Kevin snorts. “You’re literally the slowest moving person I have ever met.” 

“Moving fast is overrated,” Arnold says without a trace of shame. “Unless you’re doing the cha-cha slide, in which case moving at the appropriate pace is mandatory.” 

Kevin laughs. He can say whatever he wants about Arnold’s physique but when it comes to dancing, the man really does deserve some credit. Kevin has never seen anyone be so simultaneously good and awful at something, but the fact that Arnold never does anything without giving it his all is honestly quite laudable. It’s definitely something Kevin could learn from. 

“Jesus,” he says, shaking his head as his best friend dances in his seat. 

“Oh, he can’t save you now,” Arnold grins. “He’s long gone.” 

“Yeah, and I’m sure he turned in his grave when you had him call me a dick in your play.” 

“Oh shush, you don’t even believe he existed.” 

“Details, Arnold.” Kevin rolls his eyes. “They’re not that important.” 

“Details are everything,” Arnold points his finger at him, boops his nose – which Kevin, of course, answers by waving his hand away – and continues, “in theater.” 

Kevin frowns, and he does so more out of confusion than annoyance. “I don’t even know what this conversation is about anymore.” 

“Me neither,” Arnold says, face blank. “D’ya wanna get pizza?” 

“I make, smell, and see pizza all day, every day,” Kevin says, giving him a look that is equal amounts bored and amused. “Of course, I do. Pepperoni, extra cheese.” 

Arnold smiles as he digs out his phone from his pocket. “On it.” 

Once the pizza arrives and they’ve eaten and Arnold has rudely fallen asleep during The Little Mermaid and Kevin has tiptoed over to his own room so as not to wake him, he lets his thoughts spiral. They’ve been nagging at him all day and now is as good a time as any. 

There’s so much at stake. Not only his dignity but his war with Connor, too. He doesn’t know what to do and that is not a good look on Kevin Price. He’s the picture of perfect planning, the face of stoicism, the epitome of having it all figured. 

Or maybe he’s just the embodiment of fake it till you make it. 

Regardless, he needs a strategy. He needs a counterattack to whatever Connor is planning because he simply doesn’t believe Connor will play fair enough to keep Kevin’s past off the table. It was his mistake, anyway, asking him to bring him to Crystal’s when he could have walked there alone. A part of him wanted Connor to come with, wanted him to stay, and wanted to spend the entire night and more with him, but another part – the one screaming in the back of his mind – realized just how foolish he’d been. 

It doesn’t matter that Connor walked closer and that he, _maybe_ , let their hands brush against each other a few times too many. It doesn’t matter that Kevin felt inclined to walk him all the way back to Brooklyn because he simply didn’t want the night to end. It doesn’t matter that Connor seemed just as caught up in the moment as Kevin had when he was stood on the first step of the staircase leading up to his apartment, perfectly leveled with Kevin’s face if not slightly taller, and it doesn’t matter that they both might have leaned closer because it was never going to happen. 

It can’t. Kevin doesn’t want it to. He hates Connor and Connor hates him; he isn’t smarter than that no matter what Ricky seems to think. No matter what Arnold seems to imply whenever he gets the chance. No matter what thoughts crosses his mind when Connor’s dimple shows or what dreams he keeps waking up from in cold sweats and suddenly tighter underwear. That’s all there is, and Kevin refuses to even consider anything else. 

He’ll play dirty if he has to. If Connor won’t give in, he’ll take back the advantage with force. After all, Kevin’s threshold for pain is quite high, and not for lack of practice.

* * *

_Against the Grain  
June 15th   
12:03pm _

This is only his fifth rehearsal but he’s already in love with the feeling. Why did he ever quit theatre? There’s just something magical about watching a piece of art come to life through voices and movement, and there’s something special when it’s not only based on actual experiences, but experiences had by Kevin Price. It makes everything just the tiniest bit more interesting, and he still finds it difficult to believe some of the things he and Arnold did while on their mission. 

But mostly, he just loves being back on a stage. 

“Do you know what you’re gonna do about your truck yet?” Arnold asks during their lunch break. “Are you gonna hire someone?” 

“Nah.” Connor shakes his head. “I think I’ll just change my schedule and work whenever I’m not here.” 

Arnold nods slowly, seemingly processing Connor’s response as he takes another bite of his food. “Is that gonna be okay, though?” he asks after a while, and he looks sincerely worried which kind of makes Connor want to hug him for being so considerate. “If you’d rather work, I completely understand. You gotta make a living, too.” 

“No, no, I want to do this. Being back on a stage has reminded me just how much I love it,” Connor reassures with a smile, and Arnold seems to settle. “It’ll all work out, I’m sure.” 

Arnold smiles back. He really has surprised Connor in ways he never expected when first getting to know the guy, and he realized pretty soon just why Naba had fallen so helplessly for him. He really is kind and funny and smart in his own way, and whatever else Naba had said when she told Connor they were dating. They make a great couple, and it’s only annoying some of the time. “If you ever need to leave early or have a day off, just let me know,” Arnold says, and smiles when Naba joins them at the table. “We have understudies for a reason.” 

“Are you talking about the truck thing?” Naba asks after placing a chaste kiss on Arnold’s cheek, and Connor can’t help but smile. 

“Yes, we are,” he says. “And thank you, Arnold. I really appreciate that.” 

Naba grins then, stealing a fry off Arnold’s plate and turns to Connor. “How do you think Kevin’s gonna react to you being gone?” 

Connor rolls his eyes, holding back a scoff that automatically formed in his throat at the mention. “Oh, I’m sure he’ll be over the moon.” 

Arnold and Naba exchange a look but neither of them says anything. The smiles are telling enough, though. 

“What?” Connor asks, narrowed eyes scanning their faces. “Did he say something?” 

Arnold shakes his head. “Nope. Not to me, at least.” 

“Then what do you two look so smug for?” 

“Oh, it’s nothing, Con,” Naba laughs, stealing another fry that makes Arnold build a wall of whatever he can find close by between them. “You two are just our favorite reality show right now.” 

Connor sends her a glare but doesn’t argue. He’d probably do the same if their roles were reversed. Only, Naba and Arnold would never be in the position he and Kevin are because unlike the latter pair, the former one knows how to communicate like normal, functioning people. 

Still, the feeling lingers. They both seem as though they know something he doesn’t. Something about Kevin that he’s supposedly missed, however that’s possible considering Connor has started to take any opportunity he gets to watch him. And if they’re implying that Kevin does the same, Connor wants to deny and deflect but knows he can’t. The truth is he’s caught Kevin staring several times since they were forced to intertwine their personal lives with their work, and he’d be lying if he said there’s nothing new to the way he watches him. Perhaps Kevin is experiencing the same bursts of electricity whenever they touch. Perhaps he can’t stop thinking about Connor’s breath against his skin. Perhaps he feels it all, but Connor isn’t sure that’s for better or worse. 

How can only one of them win if they both want the same thing?

* * *

_Against the Grain_  
June 21st   
8:43am 

Connor is late, because of course he is. He’s been rehearsing most hours of the day and most days of the week and hasn’t had a lot of time over for work until today. Not that he’s complaining, rehearsal has been going great and he’s getting along with everyone involved with the show. He loves getting to act alongside Naba again, too. It’s been forever since they’ve been on a stage together and God if it doesn’t feel as though no time has passed at all. He feels twenty again. Young, dumb, and broke, which granted, isn’t far different from his life as is. He’s just as dumb and broke, only less young and slowly nearing his thirties with every passing minute, and _oh dear_ , he can’t think of that right now or he might have a meltdown. 

Especially considering the closest he’s gotten to intimacy in the past two weeks is his midnight rendezvous with New York’s foulest. 

“Morning,” he says when Kevin comes round the side of his truck. 

Things are still weird. Very weird. He hasn’t really been working at all this week and he’s barely seen Kevin, yet somehow, he seems to have managed to do something wrong either way. If the glare Kevin is giving him is anything to go by. 

“You’re not even gonna talk to me?” 

Kevin doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even give him the time of day and continues scribbling something on his menu while completely ignoring Connor. It’s strange, but not very unexpected. 

“Real mature, Price.” 

And suddenly something sparks to life as Kevin’s head shoots up and his eyes are dark like Connor has never seen them before. 

“I have nothing to say to you,” Kevin says, and the playful bite feels more like Jaws. 

Connor isn’t sure whether to laugh or walk away. “What?” he says instead and watches Kevin clench his jaw. How apt. “What are you so upset about?” 

Kevin only scoffs, but it’s humorless and cold, and Connor doesn’t care for it at all. 

“You’re mad when I’m here, you’re mad when I’m not. There’s literally no winning with you, is there?” he says, looking for a more familiar reaction. “Are you upset that I’m working with Arnold? That I’m not here to bicker with you all day?” 

“Oh, flatter yourself more, while you’re at it,” Kevin growls. Yes, growls. Like a fucking goblin in some movie Arnold would make them all watch. “I don’t give a flying fuck if you’re here or not.” 

“Then what is this about?” Connor persists. He isn’t going down without a fight, that’s for certain. “Did you wanna do Arnold’s play, is that it? Is that what you’re so pissed about?” 

Kevin rolls his eyes and it feels like home for just the briefest of seconds. “I already told you I’m not a performer,” he says, less angry and more insistent. Like he’s trying to convince Connor, or himself, or everybody in the whole damn world. 

Connor considers him. He watches the way Kevin struggles to keep his breathing steady. The way he shifts from Connor’s left eye to his right and back and forth and over again, something clouding his own eyes as he searches for an anchor. The way he calms himself down again, which feels unsettling in the most intriguing of ways. He’s never really seen Kevin lose his head, and he’s honestly quite curious to see just what that entails if he succeeds. 

“I don’t believe that,” he says, and apparently it catches Kevin off-guard as his forehead creases with confusion. Connor pushes further. “I think you’re acting right now.” 

“Get over yourself.” Kevin watches him with an intensity he doesn’t necessarily like, but doesn’t mind, either and he decides, against better judgment, which seems to be the new normal for the both of them, to push a few more buttons. If not to get a reaction, then just to see what happens. 

“You don’t hate me, Kevin,” he says and watches every thought in Kevin’s head flash behind his eyes. They’re darker again. Or maybe it’s just the way the sun hits them. 

“You don’t know me,” Kevin says, coming closer and it’s equally as intimidating as it is doing things to Connor’s subconscious attraction. “Just because you found out some things, just because you’re working with Arnold doesn’t mean you know _me_. We’re not friends.” 

Connor can’t stop the smile inching its way up to his lips as Kevin watches in fury. “I never said we were.” 

“Good.” Kevin nods once, as though affirming they are nothing but two people who can’t stand each other. “So whatever it is you plan to do, just do it.” 

Connor can practically hear a record scratch as he does a doubletake. “What?” 

He doesn’t know, does he? Doesn’t know that Connor hasn’t been able to get the feeling of his breath against his skin out of his head. Doesn’t know that Kevin has starred in more than one nightmare in extremely compromising ways. He can’t know, or can he? Oh, fuck. He does. He must know. Connor is positively screwed. 

“Whatever Crystal told you, however you plan to use it against me, just get it over with.” 

Okay, hang on. That’s not it. 

“What?” Connor repeats, his confusion quadrupled. 

“Don’t play dumb, McKinley,” Kevin scoffs, and Connor is reminded of how close he’s standing as the exhalation hits his lips. “If you’re gonna tell people just fucking do it.” 

Connor narrows his eyes, his brows knitting together as he tries to process whatever the hell Kevin is on about. “Why would I tell people?” 

“I don’t know, to tarnish my reputation?” 

Connor nearly laughs. “Oh, I don’t need to do that, you’re pretty good at it yourself,” he says, regaining his confidence now that he knows Kevin thinks Connor has the upper hand, and it doesn’t strike him until then, that maybe he does. “Besides, what’s the big deal? How is the fact that you used to be a stripper gonna affect you now? It’s not like you have some high-end job at Wall Street, you run a food truck.” 

Kevin’s eyes narrow as he stares him down. “I don’t believe you.” 

“I haven’t told anyone,” Connor says, and just to make sure it doesn’t sound too reassuring, he adds an eye-roll. “I haven’t even told Naba, okay?” 

Kevin takes a step back, still keeping his eyes locked to Connor’s. Almost as if he doesn’t dare let them out of sight. “Why?” 

Connor cocks his head. The answer feels so given to him, and he wonders why it doesn’t to Kevin. “It’s not my place to say, is it?” 

Kevin doesn’t answer. He just drops his gaze slightly, deep in thought if Connor were to guess, and he takes the opportunity to examine him again. The way he shamelessly enjoys doing because Kevin Price is somehow the simplest, yet most layered individual Connor has ever met. 

“You know, I thought I had you figured down to a T,” Connor says with a sigh. “Until I actually got to know you and it turned out you were this,” he waves his arm in Kevin’s direction, “complex person.” 

There’s a twitch in the corner of Kevin’s mouth. A tiny, easily missed motion that Connor catches immediately. 

“You’re an enigma, Kevin,” he says when Kevin doesn’t answer, and the eyes watching him aren’t angry anymore. They’re back to a more familiar color and unmistakably a more familiar Kevin. “And I fucking hate it.” 

Kevin scoffs. “Really?” 

“Really.” 

It’s still weird, the tension. The past few weeks have been a rollercoaster of surprise twists and turns and for the most part, Connor has been along for the ride, but some of it still doesn’t make sense and Connor can’t handle what he can’t understand. That’s why he’s so bad at math. 

Kevin doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t walk away, either, and Connor wants to laugh at how predictable they both are. Granted, Kevin has surprised him over and over with being a good singer, having a more than troubled past, and least of all, being a goddamned stripper, but just about everything else about him – from the way he watches Connor when he thinks Connor doesn’t notice to the way he smiles with practiced politeness at his customers, undoubtedly a subconscious reflex from his religious upbringing – Connor can read like an open book. He knows what to expect in most situations, but the fact that he keeps learning new bits of information about Kevin is slowly driving him insane while rapidly pulling him in. 

And he doesn’t know whether to lean back and enjoy the ride or take shelter in the intelligible parts of his personality. 

Regardless, they’re at a standstill, and Connor feels urged to break them out. 

“Why did you walk me home?” 

Kevin’s face doesn’t change, apart from the way his lips part slowly before returning the query. 

“Why did you wait for me?” 

Connor smiles despite himself. This godforsaken game is doubtlessly going to be the death of them, and it feels crass and rather idiotic, being the reason for his own demise. 

“You got a line,” he says after a moment. “For once.” 

And finally, the side of Kevin’s mouth quirks upward and stays there long enough to qualify as an actual smile before he glances past Connor’s head. “So do you.” 

They should both get back to work, and they’re going to. Connor is going to, either way, as soon as he can find it in himself to tear his eyes away but it’s proving itself more difficult than ever. Kevin knows. He’s sure of it because his eyes are smiling more than his mouth is and that is never a good thing with Kevin Price. 

After what feels like a second but is most assuredly too long considering they both have customers waiting, Kevin turns away first, and Connor only watches him walk for the shortest of moments. But then again, he’s never been that good with time. 

One thing’s for certain, though, he thinks once he makes it back to his own truck to tend to his line. Connor has the upper hand. It doesn’t feel like it, but he does, or Kevin wouldn’t have come at him guns blazing. That’s the action of someone who’s preparing for defeat, or a backlash at the very least, and Connor will make sure to seize the opportunity before it’s gone. 

Tonight. He’ll do it tonight, once they’ve both closed up. He’ll grab the bull by the horns and confront him, because maybe Naba’s words had a bigger impact than he initially thought. Kevin did lean in, and so did Connor. Those are just facts, cold, hard, tangible facts that Connor can’t let go of even if he wanted to. 

And he does. Desperately. 

Time seems to pass slower than ever as he watches the seconds drag on and the hours double in minutes. It’s giving him too much space to think and second guess and imagine every possible scenario of what could go wrong or what could go right or what could go seamlessly according to plan. 

It’s still a game at the end of the day. That’s all there is to it. And for once, Connor plays the role of cat and Kevin, the unsuspecting mouse. 

As the clock strikes eight, Connor begins packing up and watches Kevin do the same through the corner of his eye. It has to happen now, or he might never do it. Kevin might come up with a new and improved strategy by tomorrow and Connor will lose his momentum. 

Kevin is faster than him, and it might be due to the fact that Connor is paying more attention to him than he is packing together his things and closing up. So, when Kevin seems just about ready to leave, Connor approaches. His confidence shaking and his mind going blank, but he’s doing it, or so help me god. 

“Wait,” he says as Kevin rounds his truck and shoots him a puzzled look. 

“What?” 

It has to be now. It has to be. 

“Were you gonna kiss me that night?” 

Here we go, here we _fucking_ go. Past the point of no return at eighty an hour, and lord knows it’s a stupid plan but it’s the only one he’s got. 

Kevin gapes. “ _What?_ ” 

“When you walked me home,” Connor says, trying his very best to remain his facade of calm, cool, and collected. “You leaned in.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kevin says, turning away in such obvious testimony. “That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said.” 

“I saw the way you looked at me,” Connor persists. “The way you look at me when you don’t think I can see. You stare.” 

“No, I don’t.” Kevin screws up his face in defense. “I just zone out a lot, and sometimes you happen to be in the way.” 

Connor shakes his head, taking a step closer which makes Kevin – involuntarily or not – take a step back. “You feel it, I know you do.” 

Kevin watches him cautiously. “Feel what?” 

“I don’t know,” Connor says. Another step. “Something.” 

“Look, I don’t know whatever idea you’ve got, but all I _feel_ for you,” Kevin emphasizes with scorn in his voice, but Connor doesn’t bother dwelling, “is loathing.” 

Instead, he takes another step, and this time Kevin doesn’t move. “Alright. Then prove it,” he says, to which Kevin’s eyebrows rise slightly as he shoots him an expectant, yet suspicious look, and Connor can’t stop the words even if he tried. “Kiss me.” 

It’s funny, how differently people react to being surprised. Naba widens her eyes with intrigue or fear, depending on the news. Arnold – Connor has only recently found out – drops his jaw to the floor. And apparently, Kevin narrows his eyes like a cat and forms the smallest o shape with his lips before pressing them together in a thin, white line. 

He opens his mouth long before the word rolls off his tongue. “What?” 

“You heard me.” 

Kevin scoffs, seemingly over the initial shock as he turns away again. “Get lost, McKinley.” 

“Just admit you feel something then,” he says, stepping in front of him and it’s absolutely priceless seeing Kevin squirm. 

“I don’t.” 

“Alright, then kissing me wouldn’t be a problem, would it?” 

“What’s your game,” Kevin says and when Connor struggles to answer, the tiniest smirk forming on his lips. “You want me to kiss you, don’t you?” 

He should have anticipated a rebuttal, but everything happened so fast that he doesn’t really know what to say. “No, I-“ he falters, and it’s a small mistake that Kevin unfortunately doesn’t miss to act on. 

“You do,” he says, turning away as Connor considers his next move. “In your wildest dreams, McKinley.” 

“And in your Hell ones,” Connor counters and knows he made the right call when Kevin freezes to the ground, keeping his head turned away while watching Connor through his peripheral view. “Hit a nerve, did I?” If it’s cruel, Connor doesn’t care. It’s all for the game and right now, he’s winning. 

Kevin meets his eyes with a cold stare and a clenched jaw. “Fuck you.” 

Connor doesn’t spare him any mercy. “Bet you’d like that.” 

“You are unbelievable,” Kevin scoffs but remains still. 

“Just admit there’s _something_ there, that isn’t hate – or hell, maybe it is,” Connor says while Kevin watches him with a poorly executed bored expression. “Or kiss me and prove you can walk away unaffected.” 

“This isn’t fifth grade.” 

Kevin doesn’t move when Connor takes another step closer so that there are only two feet between them and a tension that could be cut with a knife. 

“Then stop acting like a child.” 

Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe this is the worst idea Connor has ever thought of and will ruin any chance he has of winning. If he can just get Kevin to concede somehow, build on the advantage he’s armed with enough to ensure Kevin can’t get ahead again. Or at least not anytime soon. Victory could be close enough to taste, and he doesn’t care whether it comes in the form of verbal surrender or Kevin’s mouth against his own. He needs it. 

So he takes another step and notices the urge to move backward flash across Kevin’s face and how he ignores it altogether. “You know I won’t drop it until you either kiss me or the words ‘I find you extremely attractive, Connor McKinley’ falls off your lips,” he says, his confidence wavering but he persists regardless. He’s got his eye on the Price. “And I think you’ll find I can be very persistent if need-“ 

Kevin groans out a “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” before he closes the space between them and oh boy, _oh shit_ , oh my fucking goodness, it worked. 

Or perhaps it didn’t, Connor isn’t sure – he can’t even think because Kevin’s lips are ridiculously soft and his hands are cupping Connor’s face and it’s kind of rough but then Kevin slips him the tip of his tongue and by god if it doesn’t make his knees buckle. This isn’t what he wants. It can’t be, but who’s to stop him from enjoying it while it lasts. 

And surprisingly, it lasts longer than he’s ever dreamed of. Which he hasn’t, of course. At all. 

His breath hitches once Kevin pulls away and he barely dares open his eyes because he doesn’t know what this means. They just kissed for crying out loud, and it was Connor’s idea – Connor’s ridiculous idea that if he could get Kevin to kiss him, he would automatically win. 

But then it hits him, just as he opens his eyes to find Kevin grinning triumphantly, that he’s only victorious if Kevin can’t walk away unfazed. And by the looks of it, Kevin doesn’t seem very upset about the whole ordeal. 

Rather the opposite, as Kevin leans forward again, dodging Connor’s lips as he grazes his jawline, then coming to a rest next to his ear, and Connor can feel his pulse quicken. 

“Looks like I win,” comes Kevin’s voice, soft and teasing as it sends an unwelcome shiver down Connor’s spine. Kevin pulls back, turning around as he does so but Connor doesn’t miss the smirk that’s playing across his entire face, and he struggles to steady his breathing as Kevin makes his way over to his truck. 

He gets in the driver’s seat without a word and takes off, leaving Connor to stare as he feels himself reeling. He can still taste him on his lips, and it isn’t fair. It isn’t fair at all that Kevin somehow managed to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat while Connor only managed to play himself for a damn fool. 

Well, that backfired real fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if anyone would even take offense for it, but I have nothing against Italians lmao. I don't know shit about what that statue symbolizes but from my very extensive ~~(five minutes on google)~~ research, it's controversial to some and not to others. I just feel like Kevin would side with the ones who see it as an homage to Europe's colonialization of America, but you know, what the hell do I know, really. 
> 
> ALSO, the parts are so short and I am so sorry, it just happened. There was so much information and none of it happened consecutively so it just had to be that way. Hope it's not too annoying. 
> 
> Sorry for not responding to the comments on the last chapter sooner, they were all lovely and I just got really overwhelmed by the positive response. And a UTI, to top it all of. So, my week's been great so far. 
> 
> The comments really mean so much to me, though. And I'd like to give an extra thanks to elderkevinmckinley for posting such kind words about this fic on tumblr, it really caught me off-guard and I'm horrible with words in this sense, but it truly made me so happy, you have no idea. I'm just glad someone besides me enjoys this fever dream of a fic
> 
> I was afraid this would feel like a filler chapter, so I'm gonna try and make the next one, not. Either way, if you liked it, please let me know and I'll try to get back to comments a bit faster this time!
> 
> Oh, and anyone catch my Spies Are Forever reference? The Falls reference (no, I'm still not over those movies)? Any of the countless musical references that I can't seem to resist sprinkling in? Lemme know!


	7. Sex and the Ziti

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Slice of Life_ \- Kevin's POV
> 
> _Against the Grain_ \- Connor's POV

#### 

Sex and the Ziti 

_Slice of Life  
June 25th   
7:58pm _

It’s been four days since Kevin last saw Connor. Four days since they kissed, which has given Kevin too much time to overthink every single detail again and again. The fact that Connor had so obviously wanted it despite trying to play it off as nothing special, and the way he practically melted in Kevin’s hands when they cupped his face. It was all priceless, not to mention the look of utter shock on his face when Kevin had pulled away. 

Connor didn’t need to know that he only made it around the corner of Union Square West before he had to pull over and have a full-blown panic attack after he left. He didn’t need to know that Kevin sat in his truck for two hours trying to make sense of what had just occurred. And he most certainly didn’t need to know that every time Kevin closes his eyes, the image replays on the dark canvas of his eyelids over and over and over until the whole thing feels more like a movie he’s seen a million times. 

It isn’t supposed to go like this, and quite frankly, he doesn’t know what happens now. Connor hasn’t worked at all this week until today and Kevin thought he would be able to handle it, thought he would be able to make conversation and act as though nothing had changed, but truth be told, he can’t help but watch and stare and _imagine_ and all those things Connor had pointed out. But it’s also safe to say that Connor is none the wiser, either, because he can’t meet Kevin’s eyes without getting flustered and it’s intoxicating in ways Kevin chalks up to the thrill of the game. Kevin lingers and Connor deflects. It’s quite funny how quickly the tables turned. 

“You working tomorrow?” Kevin asks as they both begin to close up shop and Connor clears his throat while only shooting him brief glances. 

“Yeah,” he says, suddenly extremely thorough in wiping the chalk off his menu. “Morning, at least.” 

Kevin nods, staring dumbly since Connor can’t even look his way, so Kevin seizes every opportunity. “So, how’s the play coming along?” 

Connor looks up then, eyes precarious and such a contrast to the last time Kevin saw them. He searches Kevin’s face with great care for a moment before turning back to his chalkboard, which Kevin wants to point out is such an unnecessary detail considering the words are gone within seconds if it starts raining. “Good,” he says after a while, before standing back up, seemingly done with not only packing up but the conversation, too. 

“Good,” Kevin repeats with a hum as Connor averts his eyes. “See you tomorrow then, McKinley.” 

Connor turns his head toward him, opening his mouth as if to say something but closes it again before any words come out. Instead, he offers a nod and disappears into the back of his truck. Kevin watches without a trace of shame, very much despite himself. 

It’s not nearly as satisfying playing the game if Connor isn’t putting up a fight, as horrible as it probably sounds. Averted glances and blushed cheeks are, Kevin doesn’t want to say cute but at a lack for a better word, he does, but he wants more. He wants adrenaline and chills and biting sarcasm that sticks in his head like a truly terrible song, which, incidentally, is something he also associates with Connor. He wants electricity and heat and skin on skin and _dear god_ he’s spiraling again. Just like he has ever since that night. 

If Connor got to add new rules, then surely, so did Kevin. In the end, they’re both still trying to win but that doesn’t have to mean they can’t mix things up. Kevin isn’t even sure what winning even entails, all he knows is that he wants it – _needs_ it, and he considers whether the idea floating around in his head is the worst he’s ever had and realizes that, sure, it’s up there, but it doesn’t outrank that time he tried to convert a warlord all by himself. It doesn’t even outrank the time he decided to dress up as Cinderella for Halloween when he was seven. In Salt Lake City. Where every single person he knew was painfully Mormon and unsurprisingly averse to boys dressing up as girls. So, it can’t be that bad, can it? 

He won’t lose the game just because he gives Connor what he wants. Or what he wants himself, for that matter. They’re only expanding the playing field, adding a new flair to the already incomprehensible rules, and it doesn’t have to mean anything. Right? 

He ignores any alarms going off in his head as he makes for Connor’s truck, and he can hear him still packing up inside with the backdoor open and Kevin is through it before he can second guess whatever insane notion he’s about to act on. 

Connor jumps when he hears him, dropping the spray bottle in hand to the floor as he stares. “What the hell are you doing,” he breathes. “You scared the shit out of me.” 

Kevin’s breath suddenly gets stuck in his throat, and Connor watches with expectant, if not wary, eyes as Kevin looks him up and down. The tension is through the roof, and it’s palpable enough that Kevin can feel it on his skin as he swallows hard and closes the door behind him. 

The inside of the truck is small – unsurprisingly – and it only takes one step until they’re inches apart and Kevin can hear the hitch in Connor’s breathing that sends his brain over the edge. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he says, and the noise Connor makes when their lips meet is nothing short of amazing. 

The last time had been, well, odd. Considering Connor posed it more as a challenge that Kevin only accepted to shut him up. Well, mostly to shut him up, anyway. Regardless, it had been quick and rough, because the moment Kevin began to lose himself, he had pulled back, but this time. This time it’s different, somehow. It’s still not an especially gentle kiss, but it is rough in the sense that it’s passionate, however conflicted Kevin feels about using that word. Connor’s hands find their way to Kevin’s hair once he seems to realize what is happening, and Kevin lets his own travel along Connor’s back. 

It shouldn’t feel this great to hear Connor moan against his lips, but it just does, and god only knows he wants more. 

After what could be anything between twenty seconds and half an hour, Connor pulls back ever so slightly, and Kevin just about refrains from whining. “So I was right,” he hums against Kevin’s lips, a smile he can’t see so much as he can feel it. 

“Shut up,” he groans back. “And take your clothes off.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Connor protests, but makes no move to push him away when Kevin pulls back. His lips are shiny and parted, and for a moment, Kevin genuinely smiles because _holy shit_ , Connor McKinley is actually beautiful, but then he catches himself and turns the smile into a smirk while Connor blatantly watches. 

“Fine,” Kevin says, trying to make his voice as husky as possible, because that’s sexy, right? He hasn’t done this in so long and he might just have forgotten how to flirt, but if the look on Connor’s face is anything to go by, he reckons he’s doing a decent job. So, he moves his hands from Connor’s back to his chest, and thank god, Connor is wearing a short-sleeved button-down because Kevin has unbuttoned plenty of those in his days to know how to make a show of it. Granted, the shirts have mainly been worn by himself, but surely it can’t be that different. “I’ll do it myself then.” 

Connor moans when Kevin’s lips find their way to his neck as he slowly works his way down Connor’s shirt, and once he’s done, he lets his hands continue their journey downward. He rests them on Connor’s belt buckle, still leaving marks all over his neck but listening for anything that could be considered a no because sure, he might hate the guy but that doesn’t mean he’d push him to do something he doesn’t want to. At least not something physical; he couldn’t care less about Connor’s feelings in most other situations though. 

When no objection comes, Kevin moves further, still keeping his ears open in case Connor changes his mind. Only, as Kevin undoes his belt, Connor nudges his head up from where it’s buried in Connor’s neck and he catches Kevin’s lips with his own with such urgency that it nearly sends Kevin stumbling backward. 

“What are we doing?” Connor breathes into his mouth, and Kevin nearly laughs. 

“I don’t know,” he says, pulling Connor as close as he physically can before leaning back to get a good look of him, and Connor chases his lips with a whine. He knows the look on his own face is most likely just as needing and flustered as Connor’s, and all he wants at that moment is to see him come completely and wonderfully undone. “Do you want to?” 

Connor seems to remember himself then, as he lets a scoff past his lips that lands softly against Kevin’s, and with widened and expectant eyes, he speaks an “Obviously,” that was definitely meant to come out a lot more indifferently than it does. 

Kevin takes the yes with a smirk as he drops to his knees, and he makes sure to watch Connor the entire time.

* * *

_Against the Grain  
June 25th   
8:32pm _

Holy mother of hell, Connor might just be in heaven. Whatever notion made this happen, whatever he did that got Kevin Price to blow him in the back of his own truck – of his _workspace_ , for god’s sake – is probably the greatest achievement Connor has ever accomplished. And Connor won his fourth-grade spelling bee. 

It’s so crass and so hot all at once. Kevin gives surprisingly good head. Which isn’t anything he thought he’d ever find out, but he’s not complaining now. How this complicates things, he’ll think about later, because all he can see is Kevin looking up at him and it’s ridiculously intoxicating and so very absurd. 

It doesn’t take long. In fact, it’s so embarrassingly quick that Connor’s face would flood with shame if it weren’t for the fact that Kevin swallows and the first thought that crosses Connor’s mind isn’t “Well, that’s disgusting.”. His cheeks are positively red but not for the reason he’d expected. 

He pulls Kevin up by the collar and he doesn’t hate the way his mouth tastes. Until he remembers that he’s literally tasting himself, at which point he nearly gags, but plays it off as a cough as he turns them around. He pushes Kevin back against the fridge alongside the counter by his serving window – that is thankfully closed – and wastes no time as he undoes Kevin’s belt and returns the favor. 

To his delight, Kevin barely lasts two minutes, which is definitely shorter than Connor’s stamina, and hell, if it isn’t the hottest thing he’s seen since he and Naba went to Magic Mike Live. Don’t ask him how, but it’s somehow very obvious to Connor that Kevin is usually a bottom. He just knows these things, like a spidey sense for sexual preference. 

Connor wouldn’t make a very useful Avenger. 

Unlike Kevin, though, Connor finishes him off with his hand, and it seems like a good decision until he realizes he has no control of what ends up where that way. 

“You fucking idiot,” he groans, getting to his feet again as Kevin comes down from his high. “You came on my counter.” 

Kevin lets out an amused breath as he follows Connor’s gesture. “Hmm,” he says, danger in his eyes. “Sounds like a you problem to me.” 

That fucking snake, Connor will murder him with his bare hands. “Well, clean it up,” he says, crossing his arms as Kevin starts putting his clothes back on. 

“You know,” he says, pulling his t-shirt over his head and running a hand through his hair. Not that it does anything to help the disheveled state Connor has left it in. “I always thought your food could use a little salt.” 

Connor screws up his face in complete disgust. The fact that Kevin is still clearly playing a game is one thing, but when he comes for Connor’s food, that’s just crude. “Fuck you,” he says watching Kevin make his way back to the door. 

Before he opens it, he stops. His hand resting on the handle and the left corner of his mouth quirking upwards in a most infuriating grin. “Maybe next time,” he says, and Connor glares holes where his eyes should be. 

Then he’s off and Connor is left in a clusterfuck of questions and unrelenting thoughts. Not to mention the stirring in his gut, an instinct that he isn’t sure whether to ignore or heed because really, what can he do. This is all just a game to Kevin – to both of them because Connor refuses to lose this way. And apparently, Kevin finds walking away a hell of a lot easier than Connor does. 

He buttons his shirt again, wipes the remnants of Kevin’s climax off his counter and is about to scrub it clean with all sorts of cleaning agents and disinfectants he can find when the backdoor suddenly opens again and Kevin comes back and hell if Connor doesn’t want a repeat despite everything. Kevin stops, throws an amused glance to the sponge in Connor’s hand before he meets his eyes. 

“Sorry,” he says, dropping his gaze to Connor’s lips as he smiles. “I forgot something.” 

Connor can nearly feel his heart beat right out of his chest as Kevin makes his way forward again, placing a hand on Connor’s waist and leans in just beside his face, and Connor anticipates lips against his neck but is soon reminded that Kevin Price is class A dick. 

“My phone,” he whispers against Connor’s ear before he leans back, a devilish smile on his face that sets Connor’s insides aflame. 

Kevin lingers, and it’s so obviously taunting that Connor could laugh. So, this is what they’ve come to? It’s unquestionably still a game, only this allows for far more foul play. But what’s the prize? The rules, the point? Connor isn’t sure if it’s a game of restraint or a game of seduction, and he doesn’t know which he would prefer, either. 

Kevin doesn’t say anything. He only looks Connor up and down with a smile, less teasing and rather admiring, if Connor can read him as well as he thinks, before he turns around and leaves again. This time Connor listens, and he doesn’t get to scrubbing until he hears an engine start and a car drive off. He remembers what Crystal had told him that night a mere two weeks ago and realizes just how right she’d been. Kevin Price just proved he wants Connor just as much as Connor wants him, and yet he has the nerve to consider himself the winner either way. 

So they’re playing dirty. Connor can get used to that if it means he gets to reap the rewards he’s been craving for longer than he’ll ever admit. He’s no stranger to enticing, and he’ll use every ace up his sleeves if need be. Thankfully, he’s got quite a few.

* * *

_Against the Grain  
June 26th   
7:26pm _

Connor has a problem. Connor has a very urgent, nagging, and frustrating problem that gets him to spin webs of overanalyzed thoughts in his head until he can practically feel steam pouring out of his ears. Connor has a problem named Kevin Price, and that problem spent the entire morning watching him with very suggestive and far too lingering eyes. 

And it only gets him a _little_ distracted. 

He doesn’t mind it, obviously. Connor is a master of allure and unafraid to use it in most situations. The only issue is, he’s finding it very difficult to resist the urges he’s flooded with whenever Kevin looks at him like that. Like a goddamn lion stalking its prey. But Kevin is no apex predator. However hard he tries, he’s a cat at best, and Connor is done playing the unsuspecting mouse. He’ll get over the initial shock eventually, and when he does, the playing field will be nice and even again. 

It’s a matter of when rather than if, but Connor is getting gradually fed up with the waiting game. 

He sinks into the couch with a loud sigh. He’s got the weekend off from rehearsal which means he has to work. Which, in turn, means he has to put up with Kevin’s stares, and his touches, and his stupidly charming attempts at flirting. How on earth did their relationship manage to do a full 180, just like that? Or perhaps it’s been in the making for longer than he’s letting himself believe. 

Regardless, he needs a plan. So far it’s been Kevin who’s been doing the chasing, which Connor knows is equal to winning in Kevin’s book. He has to turn the tables, catch up, and give Kevin a taste of his own medicine. The only question is how. 

Amid his scheming, the front door swings open and suddenly Naba’s there and Connor hasn’t told her yet and he’s not sure he can, so what the hell does he say oh god, oh god, _oh god_. 

“Hey, girl!” 

Naba shoots him a bewildered look as she takes her jacket off. “Did you just call me girl?” she says with a laugh. 

Connor nearly facepalms but manages to only pull an embarrassed face and keep his hand where it is. “Yes. Instant regret,” he says, shaking off the thoughts for now. “What’s up?” 

“Well, I just talked to Arnold, and um,” she starts, walking over to the couch but remains standing, which strikes Connor as odd. “We thought it would be fun to do something again. The four of us.” 

Connor only stares, eyes doubled in size. “Oh.” 

“Oh, come on, Connor,” Naba says and Connor can feel his cheeks heat up. “He’s not that bad. It’ll just be for a few hours.” 

He should tell her – _wants_ to tell her, but what would he even say? ‘Yeah, I don’t think that’s a good idea because we kind of hooked up last night’? Hard pass. He needs to figure the whole thing out first. What Kevin’s intention is, if it’s all still a game that they’re both playing to win or if there’s actually – Connor nearly gags – real feelings mixed up in the flurry of hate and rivalry and undeniable chemistry. 

But then, what if there is? What the hell happens then? Connor can’t see himself being friends with Kevin for all the money in the world, much less being more than that. 

He’s been thinking for too long, he realizes when Naba waves a hand in front of his face. “Sorry, I um,” he says but falters before he can get anything else out. 

“Is everything alright?” Naba tilts her head as she searches his face for clues, and Connor knows she can see right through him, still, he doesn’t tell her. He can’t. Not yet. 

“Yeah, sorry. I just, got a lot on my mind, is all,” he says, deflecting so blatantly that Naba raises a bored eyebrow but doesn’t argue. “And of course, I can do that. Let’s go out to dinner or something.” 

“You sure?” she says, apprehensive as always but there’s a glint in her eyes that tells Connor she wants it more than she’s letting on. “I mean, a public space might be pushing the limits a bit, don’t you think?” 

“Well, I can’t speak for him, but I’ll be civil,” he says with a shrug. In reality, he isn’t sure he’ll be able to keep his cool at all. Not if Kevin is going to act all flirty and personal and _hot_ , but would he do that in front of Arnold and Naba? “So long as I get to choose the place.” 

“Alright,” Naba smiles, still watching him with slight suspicion that is soon overpowered by sheer excitement. “Oh, can we go someplace nice, though? Like Olive Garden but with good wine, I have a dress I’ve been meaning to break in.” 

“The maroon halterneck one?” Connor asks and Naba nods eagerly. “God, that thing is prettier than Glinda’s bubble dress.” 

“Are you kidding me?” Naba laughs. “That dress looks like what a six-year-old would want to get married in. I was going for something a bit classier.” 

Connor rolls his eyes but laughs, nonetheless. “Just take the compliment, for god’s sake.”

* * *

_Slice of Life  
June 27th   
7:42am _

Connor arrived earlier than usual this morning. It’s nearly a quarter to eight and he’s already finished setting up, which is not normally the case since he has a habit of always running late. Unless he’s planning to steal Kevin’s spot, that is, in which case he’d probably spend the night in his truck to secure it for the next day. 

Kevin is so unused to this – all of it. The flirting and trying to look his best whenever Connor could be watching him. But he’ll admit he’s missed it, if only a little. He hasn’t felt this thrilled about anything since they announced Frozen 2. 

And no matter how clunky and unrefined his advances are, they all seem to be working just fine. 

Connor glances up when he sees him approaching, and if Kevin isn’t seeing things, his cheeks flush bright pink for the tiniest moment. He stops a few steps away, closer to the backdoor of Connor’s truck than Connor is himself, yet the suggestive nod he offers is only responded by a blank stare. 

“Come on,” he says, letting his eyes travel along Connor’s body in the way he knows drives him absolutely insane. 

Connor doesn’t budge. “What?” 

“You don’t open for another fifteen minutes.” 

“So?” 

“So,” Kevin says, stepping closer as he lowers his voice, and he isn’t sure if it’s more due to not wanting anyone to overhear, or just another complete-shot-in-the-dark attempt at seduction. “Let’s spend that time doing something a bit more, recreational.” 

Connor lets out a breath that is equal parts amused and desperate. “Is that an offer?” 

Kevin smirks. “Or a demand.” 

“Where do you get off,” Connor says, yet staying put when Kevin inches closer, “thinking you can make demands.” 

“Back of your truck, preferably.” 

Connor glares but Kevin is close enough to see right through him. “I’m not letting you come on my food again.” 

“Then take it like a man,” he leans forward until they’re only inches apart and he watches Connor’s eyes watch his mouth as he speaks, “and spit.” 

Connor’s eyes flick back up to meet his, and there are enough emotions swirling within the blue to drown in. “You’re disgusting,” he says despite leaning in. 

“You didn’t seem to think so last time,” Kevin taunts but moves no further. The ball’s in Connor’s court, and it’s too entertaining seeing him squirm like this. Besides, he’s ninety-nine percent certain he already knows the outcome, anyway. “Time’s slipping, McKinley. Thirteen minutes.” 

Connor pulls him inside with a groan and is soon on top of him on the floor. This goes against any and all food hygiene and safety regulations, which could genuinely end their careers if the Department of Health got wind of it. Which is why they’re doing it Connor’s truck and not Kevin’s. 

He’s not that dumb.

* * *

_Against the Grain_  
June 27th   
8:13pm 

Tony’s is easily one of Connor’s favorite restaurants in the city, and it just so happens to be an Italian one. Kevin made clear the moment they arrived that he was not impressed by the choice, and Connor simply told him good. He hadn’t tried to play to Kevin’s advantage no matter what he implies, and he’s not about to let Kevin think so. 

The place is quite crowded since it’s a Saturday night, and they’re placed at a table in the far back which Connor normally would have more objections about but finds he doesn’t mind as much today. Naba and Arnold claim the side of the table facing the room, which leaves Kevin and Connor with their backs against the wall. He isn’t too happy with the seating, but he’s not about to break apart the annoyingly adorable couple doing couply things like holding hands and reading one menu together instead of separately when they were each individually handed one. 

Once they’ve ordered, Arnold leans back in his chair with a smile. “So,” he says, looking across the table at the two repelling magnets trying to stay put. “It’s been ten minutes and you guys haven’t tried to jump each other yet. That’s gotta be a good thing, right?” 

The choice of words nearly makes him wince, _jumping each other_ has a completely different significance now than it did a week ago. 

“Well, I can’t speak for both of us,” Connor says, making sure to imply as much as he can without being too obvious. “But I can play nice.” 

Kevin scoffs. “Can you?” 

Connor ignores him completely. “And besides, you guys deserve a night out.” 

“Thanks, Con,” Naba smiles and intertwines her fingers with Arnold’s. 

“Yeah, it was really nice of you to suggest this,” Arnold agrees with a sheepish grin. “We were kinda worried there’d be a bloodbath.” 

“As much as I get that,” Connor says, turning to look at Kevin. “We wouldn’t be that selfish, would we?” 

Kevin responds with a bored stare before turning to Arnold. “Of course not.” 

Naba and Arnold both return their words with grateful looks, and soon starts talking about something Connor can’t say he’s very interested in at all. Which might explain why he tunes out of the conversation to stare mindlessly into his glass of wine. 

For some reason, he glances up briefly to see why Kevin isn’t partaking in the discussion on whether the Han Solo prequel is actually that good a movie, either, only to find that he’s being watched. Not that he’s surprised really. Ever since they expanded the playing field and added those fun, if not dangerous, new rules, he’s noticed Kevin’s eyes on him more often than not. And honestly, he doesn’t hate it. 

“Keep your eyes to yourself, Price,” he says quietly, hoping to god the words don’t travel all the way across the table. “We’re in public.” 

Kevin’s lips don’t move an inch, and yet somehow, Connor can see the smirk in his eyes. “In case you’ve forgotten, we were in public two nights ago as well,” he says, in an equally low voice that tells Connor he isn’t too keen on letting this – whatever it is – get out, either. “And this morning.” 

Connor glares, but his lips have already subconsciously parted and Kevin has definitely caught on. 

“What are you two mumbling about?” comes the dreadful question from the other side of the table, and Connor turns to find four indubitably knowing eyes watching expectantly. 

“How amazing this bread looks,” Connor improvises, reaching for the basket in the middle of the table. He is an actor, after all, thank you very much. “I’m so glad we didn’t go to Olive Garden, because, don’t get me wrong, I like breadsticks as much as the next guy, but this, this is fancy.” 

“It doesn’t really take much to out-fancy Olive Garden, to be fair,” Naba laughs but reaches for a piece nonetheless. “I’ll admit, it is really good, though.” 

“It’s heaven,” Connor says, mouth full with no shame. 

Kevin scoffs. “Well, it’s good to know you’re that easy to impress.” 

Connor isn’t sure what that means, but he’s more than certain it is not a compliment. “Take a bite and judge for yourself if you don’t believe me,” Connor says, keeping his tone family-friendly while staring poison darts through Kevin’s head. “Or do you only eat bread that’s dripping with grease?” 

“You know, places like these aren’t even traditionally Italian anymore. They’re just Americanized to pander to tourists and people who clearly have no regard for Italian cuisine.” Kevin has that annoyingly triumphant look on his face that is somehow simultaneously so unimpressed that it gnaws away at Connor’s patience. “Which is why the Bolognese you ordered will come with Spaghetti and not Tagliatelle.” 

Connor rolls his eyes. “How do you always find something to both complain and be a smartass about?” 

“You make it very easy.” 

“Oh, you know what,” Connor says, ready for battle. The insult at the tip of his tongue a loaded gun. And then he notices Naba in the corner of his eye, and the look on her face nearly breaks him in half because he promised her. He promised not to fight or bicker, to be mature, for once, and just act like a damn adult. So, he surrenders, albeit begrudgingly. “You’re right.” 

And he doesn’t miss the quirk in Kevin’s lips. 

“I actually prefer Bolognese with Spaghetti,” Arnold says, thankfully taking the attention away from Connor. “It just makes more sense to me.” 

“That’s because your palate is literally that of a child, Arn,” Kevin says, sounding more polite now that his words are directed elsewhere. 

“No, it isn’t.” 

“You asked for fries in an Italian restaurant.” 

“I like fries.” 

“That’s beside the point.” 

“Could we talk about something other than food?” Connor interjects with a sigh, and Naba offers a nod in agreement. “Because some people obviously seem to think their knowledge is superior despite the fact that taste is subjective, so. 

Kevin smiles, and it’s taunting in every possible way. “Do you want some _salt_ with that?” 

Connor does not. 

Once the food arrives, the tension eases slightly. The conversation flows from topic to topic, which is mostly thanks to Arnold considering that, if allowed, Connor would only want to talk about Broadway and Kevin about Disney, so having someone to steer them away when they get too involved is quite helpful. That is until Arnold finds a topic he is invested in, for instance, anything to do with pop culture references Connor can’t be bothered to understand, in which case, the conversation won’t move onto something else until Arnold decides they’re done talking about it. 

But it’s nice, he’ll admit. Apart from Kevin’s prying eyes and snarky comments, at least, and he’s just happy Arnold and Naba seem to be enjoying themselves. Although it is rather difficult to focus on that when Kevin always has something to say. When he looks as though he’s winning despite there not being much competition anyway, and it is unfair, Connor thinks, that he gets to act virtually no different while Connor has to make an effort to keep things light. 

So, in a stupidly desperate attempt to even out the playing field, he slips his hand under the table and lets it travel onto Kevin’s thigh. The noise he makes is nothing short of amazing. 

“You alright there, Kevin?” he asks when Kevin turns to glare at him, and he hopes that Kevin knows better than to not play along. 

“Mhm,” he says without opening his mouth and Connor can only imagine why. 

It goes on like that for a while. Kevin wasn’t contributing much to the conversation before, but he’s certainly not focused on adding unnecessary commentary to whatever Connor says now. Arnold and Naba seem none the wiser, too, which is thankful considering how incredibly inappropriate and downright crude the entire thing is. But it’s too easy, too addictive, really, the way Kevin struggles to keep his breathing steady, the way Connor can feel him get increasingly more, well, excited. It’s intoxicating, and if they hadn’t been in a restaurant, Connor might have just given in to the temptation. 

“Anyone want something from the bar?” Arnold asks as he gets up from his seat. 

“I could go for another glass,” Connor says, twirling the empty wineglass between his fingers. “Kevin?” 

Kevin clenches his jaw as he clears his throat to cover up for any unwanted sounds escaping his lips. “What?” 

“Do you want a refill?” Connor says, innocently placing his chin in his free hand as he watches him. 

“Sure,” Kevin says through gritted teeth, and Connor notices how Arnold shoots him a befuddled, and slightly worried, look. 

“Alright, two glasses of Cabernet, and,” Arnold says, turning to Naba with a smile. “For you, my dear?” 

“I’m feeling fancy,” she smiles. “Let’s treat ourselves to some sparkling.” 

“Champagne?” 

“Well, let’s not go crazy, babe,” she laughs, rising from her seat as well. “Prosecco will do. I’ll help you carry.” 

Arnold places a peck on her cheek before turning back to the table. “You still going red or do you wanna jump on the bandwagon?” 

“I’m good with Cabernet, thanks,” Connor says, giving the word to Kevin. 

“Same,” comes his answer, and Arnold settles for that as he turns back around, taking Naba’s hand in his own before they’re both off, and then suddenly, Kevin finds his voice again and it’s so wonderfully raspy that Connor nearly swoons. “What the hell are you doing.” 

Connor feigns innocence. “What?” 

“Your hand,” Kevin says, emphasis galore. 

“It takes two to tango, Price,” Connor taunts with a smile that is not returned in the slightest. “And you’re forgetting I'm a professionally trained dancer.” 

Kevin only stares and Connor takes the silent challenge as he lets his hand push down on the fabric instead of lightly brushing against it, which elicits a hitch in Kevin’s breath that he’s almost certain drives them both insane. This is such a ridiculously bad idea that it’s nearly laughable. Still, he finds himself unable to do anything but watch how Kevin reacts to every single touch, and the fact that Kevin, despite his many glares, does not even attempt to stop him is far too satisfying. 

After a moment of cruel teasing on Connor’s behalf and attempted indifference on Kevin’s, the latter turns his head with a groan, and if his eyes aren’t filled to the brim with urgent need, Connor doesn’t know what. 

“We’re in a restaurant, for crying out loud,” Kevin says, low enough that his voice is annoyingly hot but loud enough to, apparently, be heard by others. 

“Accurate observation, Kev,” Arnold says, suddenly appearing at the other side of the table, and Connor doesn’t believe any time has passed at all. “Are you okay, bud? You’re looking a little pale.” 

“I’m fine,” Kevin says, a strained smile in reassurance. 

“You sure?” Arnold tilts his head, and for a second, Connor is struck by genuine guilt, seeing how worried he seems. But thankfully, when Kevin manages to nod and offer some more calming words, Arnold turns back to Naba. “Okay, so, what were you saying? Do you think I should do it?” 

“Yes!” Naba says, taking a sip of her wine. “Even if you don’t win, it’s still worth a shot.” 

“What is?” Connor asks, letting his hand rest in Kevin’s lap but keeps it static. 

“Arnold is thinking about submitting the play to a few awards,” Naba fills him in with a smile. “John Gassner, New Light New Voices, and a couple of others, right?” 

“Yeah,” Arnold shrugs. “I haven’t looked into it that much yet. I still feel like there’s not really a point.” 

“Are you kidding?” Connor says, retreating his hand so he can gesture characteristically before hearing the sigh of relief leaving Kevin’s lips, after which he returns it almost immediately. “I’m with Naba on this. Your play is great and even if you don’t win, it’s good exposure.” 

“Exactly,” Naba agrees. 

“Really?” Arnold still isn’t convinced. “Kevin, what do you think?” 

“Hmm?” Kevin sounds, glancing up as if he hadn’t been paying attention at all. Which, Connor considers, he probably hasn’t. “Yeah, uh. Sounds good.” 

Arnold leans back in his chair, twisting his face like a cartoon character in deep thought before he acquiesces. “Alright, yeah. I guess applying doesn’t hurt, right?” 

“Decidedly, not,” Naba says, locking their hands together. 

Connor watches them be cute and gross at the same time, just like he does any romantic comedy or couple that is unnecessarily into PDA. He turns to look at Kevin instead, and sweet lord, his eyes are closed and his brows knitted. Connor almost feels bad. 

“You’ll have to excuse me for a second,” he says, pulling his hand away after giving Kevin one last nudge. “I gotta run to the men’s room real quick.” 

He doesn’t, but he knows Kevin gets the hint, and honestly, they’re just that predictable. The restroom isn’t huge. There are three stalls and a line of urinals, and thankfully, it’s empty. Which feels just slightly too convenient, but he decides not to dwell because he knows he won’t be alone for long, anyway. 

The door opens a minute later, and the sight is astounding. 

“What the hell is your damage,” Kevin growls. 

Connor wastes no time. “The stalls are empty.” 

Kevin stares for a moment, his eyes intrusive and intense as he searches Connor’s face for god knows what. “Fuck you,” he says, and if Connor hadn’t known him any better, he’d probably think he meant it. 

Instead, he prods one of the stall doors open and returns the look with expectant eyes as he breathes, “Please.” 

And suddenly, his back is pressed against the wall and Kevin takes his revenge without hesitation or mercy. Connor is one hundred percent gone. One hundred percent his, and it doesn’t exactly help that Kevin is a ridiculously good kisser or that his lips feel like velvet against Connor’s skin. Someone could walk in at any moment, and as much as he wants to not give a damn about it, he does. It’s just too risky, in every literal sense of the word, and besides, he has a plan already. And he knows watching Kevin writhe will be just as sweet a victory. 

He turns them around, pushing Kevin against the wall instead, and lets their tongues battle for a moment of self-indulgence, before he gets to his knees and expertly unbuckles Kevin’s belt in the process. Kevin moans at the touch, and Connor returns the gesture, sending vibrations all through Kevin’s body that makes his back arch, and thank god, Connor has trained away his gag reflex. 

He allows him pleasure for a moment but knows Kevin doesn’t have the best endurance and when he’s certain he’s past the point of no return but not yet at the finishing line, he pulls away, getting on his feet and stands back. 

“What,” Kevin breathes, confusion clouding his eyes. 

“We’re in a restaurant, Kevin,” Connor says, feigned innocence because what else is he supposed to do at this point. “We don’t want people to get suspicious, would we?” 

“Are you serious?” Kevin laughs, although Connor hears to humor in the sound. “You’re gonna leave me like, _this_?” 

“I guess you could call it,” Connor says, enjoying himself far too much to sound suave. “A low blow.” 

Kevin is not amused, but Connor finds no shame in laughing at his own, objectively terrible but subjectively hilarious, joke. 

“Funny,” Kevin snarls, eyes dark and narrow. 

Connor smiles, takes a look at the mess he’s created without any intention to clean up before he pushes the door open with a wink. “Don’t be long, alright.” 

And then he leaves Kevin to take care of himself, and honestly, he can’t wait for his retaliation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY LISTEN, I always try to research things before putting them in here but it turns out that Italian restaurants in nyc are real fucking good at proving me wrong. I swear to god I saw some BBC show about how American and British restaurants serve 'fake' Italian food, like spaghetti bolognese, but would you believe, literally not one place I looked up had that on their menu, but I'll be damned if I can't use that pointless piece of knowledge anyway. So, in short, there's a huge plot hole here that's literally never gonna let me sleep again.
> 
> Also this is just a really horny chapter lmao, but what do you expect from these two. They've been doing this dance for so long, it's bound to happen and all at once because they're both just that far gone, okay
> 
> It's a bit shorter, but I think the next one's gonna be quite long and hopefully very Kevin-centric (although don't hold me to that because you never know, my brain likes to fuck with me sometimes), and I also just thought of some of my favorite bit of dialogue ever earlier today, which is gonna come up a few chapters down the road and I am PSYCHED, I tell ya. I don't like to toot my own horn but I audibly laughed - which could just speak more to my sense of humor tbh, but idk
> 
> Thank you for reading! And I'm sorry about the very PG explicit content because a) just let them bone, they deserve it, and b) I can't write smut for shit, so this is what you get lmao, hope y'all like it either way! 
> 
> I was low on references in this but they'll be back. In the meantime, stay safe and la dee dah dah day


	8. About A Toy (Story)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Slice of Life_ \- Kevin's POV
> 
> _Against the Grain_ \- Connor's POV
> 
> NOTE: TW: implied/referenced rape/sexual abuse/the book thing   
> It isn't graphic at all and is only briefly mentioned, but just a heads up

#### 

About A Toy (Story)

_Against the Grain  
July 6th   
3:12pm _

They’re only a few days away from their opening night. After just about a month of rehearsing and a lot of sweat and tears – and thankfully not that much blood – they're finally here. In the last couple of days of preparing and Connor is literally buzzing. It’s not even like it’s a big show, they’re still in a tiny theatre and they’ll only be able to do a very limited run that’ll last two weeks at the most, but it’s still more exciting than he’d ever dreamed of. 

Maybe it’s a good thing he never made it to a bigger stage because if he gets this hyped about performing in front of a hundred people, imagine what a wreck he’d be at his Broadway debut. 

He’s been spending the entire day with Arnold at his and Kevin’s apartment, going over the last touches of his character and some last-minute changes to the script. Connor hadn’t been too keen on playing the character based off Kevin, and needless to say, Kevin hadn’t either, but they’ve both kind of come around by now. Arnold had even suggested that Kevin should give him some pointers, should tell him about his time in Uganda to help get Connor in the right mindset, but Kevin had been quick to refuse, and honestly, Connor hadn’t cared all that much. Elder Nice is every bit as arrogant as Kevin is, but at least Kevin doesn’t still have the same superiority complex it seems he once embodied. 

It almost makes Connor believe people can change. Almost. 

Just as they’re about to wrap up for the day, since Arnold has plans with Naba and Connor thought he could work the last few hours of the afternoon, the front door opens and Connor swears he can feel the temperature drop. 

“The hell are you doing here?” Kevin says. 

“We’re just going over some stuff for Friday,” Connor says without looking up from his script. “Shouldn’t you be working?” 

“I took the rest of the day off,” Kevin says, taking a seat opposite Connor at the table and he struggles not to lift his eyes to get a glimpse of whatever mood Kevin seems to be in. His face is almost expressionless, if not for the tiny, smug glint in his eyes that tells Connor he’s not that upset about his presence at all. “How _is_ the play coming along, anyway?” 

“It’s great,” Arnold beams. “I think Connor might be an even more convincing Elder Nice than you would.” 

“Yeah, because he’s playing a character,” Kevin says, rolling his eyes. “Not me.” 

“He’s based on you, though.” 

“I know that, Arnold, thanks for reminding me. I’m still mad at you for that one, by the way,” Kevin says, but smiles regardless. “But yeah, I mean, I have no doubt in McKinley’s ability to act like a first-rate prick.” 

“So you admit to being one,” Connor laughs. 

“No,” Kevin says, annoyingly unbothered. “I admit the character Arnold built around me is one.” 

“Same difference.” 

“Of course, you’d say that.” 

“Oh, shit,” Arnold says then, glancing at his phone as he hurriedly gets up from his seat. “Naba will be here any minute and I haven’t even showered yet. Could we finish up tomorrow – or hey, Kevin, you’re not doing anything, right?” 

“Depends,” Kevin says with a bored stare. “I might be busy.” 

“With what?” 

“Things.” 

“Right,” Arnold says, clicking his tongue. “That’s obviously a lie, so could you just help Connor finish up? Just run some lines, it’ll take ten minutes, tops.” 

“I should’ve stayed at work,” Kevin groans, which Arnold takes as a yes as he’s off to the bathroom. Kevin turns back to Connor with a sigh. “So. What do we do?” 

“I can get Naba to run lines with me tonight,” Connor says, a smile playing on his lips as Kevin’s face flashes with confusion. “Did you know I was gonna be here?” 

Kevin narrows his eyes. “What?” 

“You never take time off work,” Connor says with a shrug. “You literally showed up with crutches for a week straight once.” 

“Yeah, because I only had a sprain. What was I gonna do, sit around all day?” 

“Case in point,” Connor says. “Why did you take today off?” 

Kevin scoffs, crossing his arms as he leans back in his chair. “You’re so full of yourself,” he says, but there’s a smile playing on his face that Connor doesn’t miss. “The world doesn’t revolve around you, you know.” 

“No,” Connor smiles, a bit too dangerously, what with Arnold in the next room. “But you do. Lately.” 

Kevin grimaces disapprovingly but doesn’t argue. Instead, they both just sit there, staring at one another like two honest-to-god idiots waiting to be alone so they can do what they both want. What they both know is going to happen as soon as Arnold walks out the door. 

Unfortunately, Arnold seems to be taking his sweet time getting ready, and Connor is growing impatient. He can sense Kevin is, too, by the way his eyes have abandoned Connor’s, only to focus on his lips instead. They’ve been doing this dance for almost two weeks. Staring, longing, wanting, so obviously that Connor’s honestly astonished no one has caught on, but he’s not complaining. He still isn’t sure what either of them really wants, and he’d be lying if he said he isn’t too ashamed about the whole thing to tell Naba. He will eventually, before or after this little _fling_ goes to ruin. But right now, he just wants to enjoy the ride. 

Literally. 

Maybe Kevin notices because he suddenly rises from his seat and sets off down the hall and Connor can do nothing but follow suit. It’s risky, but maybe Arnold will think nothing of it and they’ll be able to get away with it. Kevin is only a step away from the door Connor assumes leads to his bedroom when he suddenly spots a photo on the wall that he had somehow completely missed the last time he was here, and god knows it’s too good to ignore. 

“Oh my god.” 

“What?” Kevin spins around, sounding almost panicked. 

“There’s a picture of Snow White and a little boy,” Connor says in awe, and he can’t stop the smile forming on his lips if he so wanted to. “Is that you?” 

Kevin doesn’t answer. He just stares, a frown appearing on his eyebrows for the briefest of seconds and he looks as though he’s deciding between scowling and laughing, but ends up doing neither. 

“That is adorable, look how happy you were,” Connor marvels despite himself. Kevin Price was an adorable child, because of course, he was. He looks seven, maybe eight, and his cheeks are puffy and his hair just slightly too overgrown for a Mormon kid and he looks as though it might have been the best day of his life. “This must have been your prime, right? Meeting Snow White at the happiest place on earth.” 

“That was taken in Disneyland,” Kevin says. “It’s the most magical place on earth, not the happiest.” 

“Yeah, because that’s the most important detail of what I just said,” Connor says with a half-assed eyeroll. “Did you get to see the dwarves too? Or Prince Charming? Surely, you’d be more interested in him.” 

“Prince Charming is the most boring character to have ever existed,” Kevin says, crossing his arms and leaning his shoulder against the wall. “And I was so _happy_ because I got to meet the OG Disney princess.” 

“Aw,” Connor laughs. “You sound like a fourteen-year-old girl who takes BuzzFeed quizzes for fun.” 

Kevin blinks, not seeming very offended at all and it dawns on Connor the exact same moment as it does Kevin. 

“No,” Connor laughs, just a bit harder this time. He isn’t all that surprised if he’s honest, but it still might be the funniest thing he’s ever heard. 

“I don’t think they’re fun.” 

“You totally do,” Connor says, amused out of his mind. “That’s amazing.” 

Kevin groans. “They have a lot of Disney shit, okay?” 

Connor bites back another laugh. He’s not that cruel, or perhaps he’s just saving it for another day. “So is Snow White your favorite princess then?” 

“No,” Kevin says, hesitating slightly as if he doesn’t trust Connor with such private information. “Mulan is.” 

“Really?” Connor wrinkles his nose. “I never really liked those movies.” 

“That is the most offensive thing you’ve ever said,” Kevin stares and it’s funny, Connor thinks, because he genuinely looks more hurt than he did that time he got his face beaten blue. “Who’s yours then?” 

Connor shrugs. “I never really cared for that whole franchise,” he says, watching as Kevin lightly shakes his head. “But I guess if I had to choose, I'd say Tinkerbell.” 

Kevin scoffs, rolling his eyes so hard Connor thinks they might do a full turn. “Tinkerbell isn’t a princess.” 

“Well, she’s in the general category,” Connor says. “It’s basically the same.” 

“No, it’s not,” Kevin persists. “She’s a fairy.” 

“Are you always this pedantic?” Connor sighs, regretting his decision to bring Disney up at all. He should have known it would end in Kevin trying to lecture him. 

“I’m just saying,” Kevin says, copying Connor’s sigh with overacted mockery. “If I ask you who your favorite princess is you can’t say Tinkerbell.” 

“Fine,” Connor says. “Elsa.” 

“Jesus Christ, Connor,” Kevin laughs. “She’s not a princess, she’s a queen.” 

“That’s literally the same thing but with a fancier title!” 

“What?” Kevin says, twisting his face in bemused exasperation. “You really are as dumb as they come. Next you’re gonna tell me your favorite Disney movie is Toy Story.” 

Connor shoots him a bored, if not confounded, stare. “No,” he says. “My favorite Disney movie is Bea-” 

“Toy Story is Pixar, you fucking idiot,” Kevin scowls, narrowing his eyes with a loud scoff. “I can’t believe you didn’t even know-” 

“Oh my god, _you’re_ the one who said it,” Connor says, raising his voice to be level with Kevin’s as he throws his hands in the air to better communicate how absolutely ludicrous this is. 

“To test you,” Kevin says, raising his eyebrows triumphantly as Connor’s frustration rapidly increases. “And clearly you failed.” 

“SINCE WHEN ARE WE TESTING PEOPLE’S KNOWLEDGE OF DISN-” 

“Are you guys fighting about... Disney?” Arnold suddenly appears, with a new set of clothes and slightly damp, yet somehow kind of styled, hair. 

“Yes.” 

“No.” 

Connor turns to glare at Kevin. “What do you mean ‘no’? Then what the hell are we fighting about?” 

“We can’t fight about something if you don’t even know what _it_ is,” Kevin says, turning to Arnold for backup. “He thought Toy Story was Disney, can you believe him.” 

Arnold only blinks for a moment, seemingly confused about what anything has to do with anything and why the hell he was suddenly dragged into all of it. “Didn’t Disney acquire Pixar?” he says. “Like, years ago?” 

“Ha!” Connor says, pointing a celebratory finger at Kevin who only rolls his eyes in response. 

“Toy Story came out before that, so you’re still wrong.” 

Connor drops his finger but holds the glare steady and Kevin returns it with ardor and then some. 

“Right, well, I’m gonna go meet Naba and, you know, make normal conversation like healthy, functional people do,” Arnold says, a light chuckle leaving his lips as he makes his way past the both of them. “But you guys have fun.” 

“I can’t believe you didn’t know Toy Story was Pixar,” Kevin says once the door closes again. 

“I can’t believe you set me up,” Connor says, and it takes less than a heartbeat before he’s pinned against the wall right next to the picture of a young and elated Kevin Price, and he can’t help but wonder what he would think, knowing that in twenty years he’d be making out with the guy who just offended fifty percent of his entire personality. 

Kevin wastes no time, which is a thing Connor has learned he almost never does when it comes to sex. He’s very much straight to the point, and Connor can’t complain, even if he _sometimes_ would like things to move just a tiny bit slower so he can fully savor every last moment. But it’s hard to argue when Kevin grabs one of his legs and prompts him to jump so he can wrap them both around his waist as he carries him toward the couch. 

If his brain was working at a normal capacity, he’d make them do it in Kevin’s room instead. Or at the very least, not the couch which is practically within sight of the front door, but Kevin is kissing a trail down his chest and it’s very difficult to focus on anything other than pure, unadulterated pleasure. 

“Here’s a Toy Story reference for you,” he breathes when Kevin nears the waistband of his shorts. “How about I get my Woody, you get your Bullseye, and we do a little Bo Peeping.” 

Kevin promptly sits up, his face turned to stone. “Get out.” 

“What?” Connor laughs but doesn’t get so much as a smile in return. 

“I said,” Kevin says, climbing off him and getting on his feet. “Get out.” 

Connor scoffs. “What, I was gonna go with Scrooge McDick, is that better?” 

Kevin screws up his face as he stares down at him. 

“Donald Dick?” 

“Just shut up.” 

“Dickey Mouse.” 

Kevin groans, pinching the bridge of his nose as he points to the door. “Get. Out.” 

Connor gets up, still on the brink of laughter because Kevin is as good as naked, save for his socks, for some reason, and yet he acts as though his dignity is somehow intact while Connor’s has long since shattered. “Are you serious? You’re really kicking me out right now?” 

“We don’t disrespect Disney in this house.” 

“You just said Toy Story was Pixar.” 

“We don’t disrespect them either.” 

Connor stares, completely dumbfounded yet somehow not surprised. “You know, it’s a bit hard to take you seriously with your dick out.” 

Kevin doesn’t answer, still keeping his finger pointed at the door and his face remains unimpressed but clearly bothered. 

“Wow, alright.” Connor lets out an amused breath that isn’t very amused at all but what else can he do. “Well, have fun jerking yourself off.” 

He throws his t-shirt back on as he heads for the door. Luckily, he never got so far in the undressing process that his pants are off, so at the very least, he can make a quick exit. 

“I will!” Kevin says right before Connor slams the door behind him. 

He makes it down the stairs faster than he ever has and it might be because he’s absolutely fuming, or maybe he just wants to get away before Kevin can change his mind. It’s one thing when they both want it equally as much, but if Kevin can reject him and still have Connor be at his beck and call whenever he has a change of heart, he’ll figure out the advantage is, unfortunately, very much on his side. This way Connor can’t give in, and even though he wants to, he also wants to keep the playing field even for as long as he can. Or else, he fears, Kevin might grow tired of the game. 

“Hey, Connor,” a voice reaches him as he makes it outside, and his head turns before his ears even react only to spot both Arnold and Naba, just kind of standing there. “Where are you going?” 

He wants to ask them what they’re still doing here, why they haven’t left, or – god forbid – if they decided to go back up without him or Kevin noticing but decides against it. If they would have seen anything, he’s bound to hear it eventually, and he’d rather not blow up in their faces when he’s just mad at Kevin. “Your roommate is an ass,” he says instead, looking at Arnold whose face immediately cringes. 

“I second that,” comes a voice from Connor doesn’t know where and he doesn’t bother finding out, either, as he’s already turned around and is heading for the nearest subway station with steam practically pouring through his ears. 

“No one asked you, Dennis,” he hears Arnold say before his voice softens yet increases in volume. “I’m sorry, Con. I don’t know what he did but I’m sure it warrants an apology.” 

Damn fucking right, it does.

* * *

_Against the Grain  
July 8th   
8:14am _

This is the only day he’s working this week, and it doesn’t thrill him nearly as much as it normally would. Well, not that he’s thrilled to go to work every day, but at least he usually feels good about it. He likes it. But it’s safe to say he’d rather be rehearsing and getting ready and performing in front of a live audience right now. Just two more days, that’s all. He can do that. 

“I thought we were done with this.” 

Or maybe he can’t. “Done with what, Price?” he says, leaning through his server window to look down at him, much like he’s grown accustomed to by now. 

“You stealing my spot,” Kevin says, eyes bored. 

“Oh, get over yourself,” Connor says with a scoff. “You’ve gotten this spot whenever I haven’t been here, and there are still plenty of days I’ll be working on the play, so if anything, we have shared custody.” 

Kevin snorts. “Well, you can’t just walk up to a parent and be like ‘Hi, your kid is half mine now’,” he says and Connor nearly laughs. “You didn’t make it.” 

“Are you literally saying you made this spot?” Connor says, eyebrows raised in bewildered amusement. “That you poured the fucking concrete yourself?” 

Kevin rolls his eyes as expected and offers a half-assed scowl in return. 

“You know people parked here before you, right?” Connor continues, because he’s still kind of pissed about Kevin kicking him out of his apartment two days ago and he’ll take his revenge in whatever form it may come. “You’ve been in the business for, what, like a year? Who do you think you are, the Steve Jobs of food trucks? Just because you started a company from scratch and are the world’s most well-known philanthropist who gives millions to charity every year, it still doesn’t give you right to just claim a piece of land, for god’s sake.” 

Kevin blinks, narrows his eyes in what looks like confusion, and turns away for a second before looking back. “Wait, are you talking about Bill Gates?” 

Connor frowns. “What? No, Steve Jobs.” 

Kevin lets out an amused breath. “Steve Jobs is dead.” 

“Oh,” Connor says. He never was that good with names, and certainly not the names of billionaires he couldn’t care less about. “Well, that’s unfortunate.” 

“Actually, I heard he was kind of a dick,” Kevin says with a shrug, and Connor has a hard time processing why the hell any of this matters, anyway. 

“Well, good riddance, then,” he says. “Still, I don’t think you would talk to, I don’t know, Jessie or Javier this way.” 

Kevin frowns. “Who the hell are Jessie and Javier?” 

“Are you actually kidding me,” Connor lets out a biting laugh. “Jessie has the Taco Truck and Javier makes the donuts – which, by the way, is the only truck here I respect.” 

Kevin gives him an unimpressed look. “Why?” 

“Because it’s called _DoNut Mind If I Do_ ,” Connor says, to which Kevin only stares. “It’s a pun.” 

“I got that,” he drawls before shrugging as he lets his eyes wander to the other food trucks down the street. “Well, I’ve never really talked to them.” 

“So, it is just me,” Connor says, his smile as taunting as he can make it, and it catches Kevin’s attention for just a tad too long before his eyes return to Connor’s. “I’m the only one you bother. Kinda makes you wonder why, doesn’t it?” 

Kevin scoffs, visibly resisting the urge to roll his eyes again. “Take it down a notch,” he says. “Vanity isn’t a good look on you.” 

Connor smiles, leaning just a little further as he tilts his head, suggestively allowing his eyes to flick down to Kevin’s lips for the briefest of moments, knowing he won’t miss a beat. “Then why are you staring?” 

But unfortunately, Kevin catches himself too quickly and soon returns the smirk on Connor’s face. “Nice try, McKinley,” he says. “You still have some making up to do.” 

Connor scoffs. “I’m not gonna grovel to you, if that’s what you think.” 

“Well,” Kevin says, and Connor almost wants to punch him for gloating so overtly. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.” 

Connor doesn’t answer, because he honestly doesn’t know how to. He has nothing to make up for, Kevin just needs thicker skin. 

“See you Friday,” Kevin says before turning around and marching off, and Connor is left feeling saltier than he had ten minutes ago. It’s funny how Kevin Price can be so infuriating and addictive all at once.

* * *

_Slice of Life  
July 10th   
7:56pm _

This is it. This is the night he’s been hearing about for weeks on end and quite frankly, he couldn’t be less excited. He knows he promised Arnold to be there, but he’s already, _sort of_ , seen the show once before and that was difficult enough without Connor McKinley in the leading role. Still, he wants to support Arnold. He even wants to support Naba, but Connor? Hard pass. He could choke on his own words and Kevin would laugh. 

Things have been a bit icy since Connor’s so-called joke, and sure, it might be Kevin’s fault for taking it as a personal attack rather than a shamelessly terrible pun, but that doesn’t mean he has to be okay with it. He’s still playing, though, and Connor knows that but he has been busy with the play for most of the week and they’ve barely seen each other since Monday, so Kevin isn’t completely certain where he’s got him right now. He doesn’t know if Connor still thinks he’s mad, or if he’s only amused by Kevin’s ridiculously short fuse, and to be quite honest, Kevin doesn’t know what he is, either. He doesn’t know if he wants to stay upset or pin him against the nearest wall or never see him again in his entire life. 

Until he enters the stage, and suddenly, Kevin is reminded of just what sorts of feelings Connor stir up in his chest. The way Connor’s hair looks almost blonde under the fluorescent lights and how pale his skin is and how accentuated his freckles get when the spotlights hit them in just the right way, and- 

No. Kevin is not spiraling again. Not now, not when he’s surrounded by hundreds of people and certainly not when he’s quite sure Connor can see his face just fine from the stage. 

He focuses on the show instead. On the story and the characters, desperately trying to ignore the fact that he’s watching his and Arnold’s own experiences but comically amplified, and he nearly succeeds. 

Until the General appears. 

Kevin knew Arnold had written him in – mostly as a throwaway joke, to be fair – but it still hits him harder than he’d anticipated. There isn’t even a slight resemblance between the actor and the face imprinted in Kevin’s memory, and he isn’t doing anything particularly triggering, but it still manages to flick a switch Kevin has been very adept at keeping turned off. 

He can feel it itching under his skin, gnawing at his flesh as the room suddenly fills with icy winds and Kevin shivers. He should have prepared, but then he also feels like he shouldn’t _have_ to prepare at all anymore. It’s been seven years, for god’s sake. He’s had seven years, eighty-four months, two thousand five hundred and fifty-five days to get over it. To rid himself of the pain and guilt and shame, but here he is, seven years later and still ever as horrified as he’d been that day. 

He tries not to think about it, tries to push down any unwanted thoughts that have been lurking in the back of his mind, just waiting for a reason to pop back up with brute force and vivid imagery. He tries not to think about hands holding him down, clasping so tightly around his wrists that the blood doesn’t reach his fingertips and he tries so hard, but he can still feel his hands going numb and fears that if he looks down, they’ll have gone white or purple or whatever color they had been when they had finally let him go. 

He tries not to think about the guilt, mostly, because who, if not himself, is there to blame for the entire thing. 

Kevin has nearly forgotten about Connor all together. He’s still watching because he doesn’t have the heart to leave and tell Arnold, but he isn’t paying much attention at all. He’s trying – he wants to, but everything just hits differently now, even without the General onstage, and he struggles to see the show for what it is, which is satirical fiction, and instead, only sees himself, twenty years old and a complete failure in the eyes of the Church, a shameful disgrace in his parents’, and a coward in his own. 

He can’t even do something so simple as watching a play without fucking up.

* * *

_Against the Grain  
July 10th   
10:18pm _

He’s still buzzing. Still coming down from the high of getting a standing ovation, even if it’s only from a hundred or so people. The smile on his face won’t wear off despite his cheeks starting to ache, but he really doesn’t care. If acting was a drug, Connor is unashamedly addicted. 

He joins Arnold and the other cast members on the stage for a second bow and can’t help but notice that Kevin is applauding, but with closed eyes. At first, he assumes it’s only to spite him, but he doesn’t seem to open them at all and Connor knows he would take any chance he’d get to taunt him. A much more characteristic move would have been not applauding. Or being the only person in the audience still sitting down. Or hell, just smiling would be enough to gnaw at his patience, but this. This was weird. In a sense he can’t even describe. 

Once backstage again, he joins Arnold and Naba who are already chatting away about the performance and it reminds him of the night he’d gone to see the interactive version all those weeks ago. When he’d gotten Kevin dragged on stage, when they’d sung together all close and intimate, when they hadn’t even started, well, whatever it is they’re doing, yet. When things had been indubitably easier, but not nearly as interesting. 

Kevin knocks on the open door a few minutes later, with a look on his face that isn’t at all what Connor expects, and for some reason, it makes his stomach turn. 

“Kevin!” Arnold exclaims when he spots his best friend and beams as he asks, “What did you think?” 

“It was great,” Kevin smiles, too politely to be comforting. 

“Really?” Connor can’t stop himself. “No critique? No snappy comments?” 

Kevin just looks at him, without much emotion in his eyes at all. “No,” he says, simple and plain. “Not this time.” 

“Thanks, bud,” Arnold says. “It means a lot to me that you’re here.” 

“Of course,” Kevin says, but the smile on his lips doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

Arnold and Naba resume their conversation, and Connor joins them because he still feels as though he’s on top of the world, only now there’s an anchor chained to his elation that’s slowly pulling him down to the bottom of the ocean. 

“We should go out,” Naba says then, bouncing on the spot. “Get a celebratory drink, or five.” 

“Ooh, we could do another karaoke round,” Arnold beams, turning to Kevin. “That was fun the last time, right?” 

“It was, but um,” Kevin says, clearing his throat and seeming almost, nervous is the best word Connor can think of. “I’m actually not feeling so hot tonight. I think I'm just gonna go home.” 

“You sure?” Arnold asks, his brows knitting together that way they do when he’s concerned for Kevin. “Is everything alright?” 

“Yeah,” Kevin says with an attempted laugh that comes out airier than anything. “Just one of those days, you know.” 

“Alright,” Arnold says, apprehensive but offers him a smile nonetheless. “Call if you need anything, okay?” 

Kevin just nods before turning around to leave, but nothing feels right. Everything is out of place and inside out and Connor can’t help but run after him. 

“Kevin, wait,” he says when he catches up to Kevin, halfway across the stage. “Look, if this is about me – I don’t wanna be in the way.” 

“It’s not, I-” Kevin shakes his head but gives no other indication to what’s going through his mind than that. “Contrary to what you might believe, not everything I do has something to do with you.” 

“Okay,” Connor says dumbly. This is uncharted turf he never dreamed of encountering. “Just checking. Sorry.” 

Kevin gives him a look, and Connor wants it to be familiar but it just isn’t. “I’ll see you at work, McKinley.” 

Connor doesn’t chase after him this time. Despite a very strong urge to do so. 

He makes his way back to Arnold and Naba instead, his mind set on finding out whether he’s the only one thinking Kevin was acting strange, and if he can, why. 

“Is it just me or was that, like, really weird?” he says when he reenters the room, and the couple both look back at him, both ostensibly less spirited than they had been a few minutes ago. 

“Yeah, no,” Arnold says, reaching his arm out to scratch the back of his neck. “He gets like that sometimes.” 

Connor frowns. “What do you mean?” 

“Kevin is, um... Well, he’s been through a lot, let’s just say,” Arnold says with a shrug that doesn’t soothe Connor’s confusion one bit. 

“I’ve never seen him like that before.” 

“Yeah, he’s pretty good at dealing with it most of the time,” Arnold says. “I think it might have been the play that, you know, set him off. I shouldn’t have made him watch it again.” 

Naba reaches out and takes his hand in hers, and Arnold returns the gesture with a grateful smile. 

“All those things really happened to him,” Connor says rather than asks, but Arnold still nods in response. 

“Yeah. That and a lot of other things I’ve only heard him relay to me,” Arnold says. “But I would never dare to even go near those.” 

Connor feels dumb. So incredibly, inconceivably dumb to even bring this up right now because clearly, it’s a topic Arnold is uncomfortable talking about, and it is quite the downer if he’s being honest. “Oh,” is all he manages in the end, and Arnold – bless his soul – still offers him a smile that somehow makes the room just a bit brighter. 

“He’s a tough cookie, though,” he says, and Connor wants to believe him. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow.” 

So, he lets it go for now, and they go out. Not to a karaoke bar but a regular one, and it’s fun. Connor has a drink, attempts some harmless flirting but it just isn’t the same. There’s no heat, no fire, just boring people with boring stories, and he can’t keep the voice nagging at his brain quiet for long. 

He just wants to know, wants to understand and be there, but he’s afraid it’s not going to end with an open heart to heart but rather with harsh comments and unshed tears. Does he even have the right to find out? Kevin isn’t obligated to tell him anything at all, and just because they’ve grown closer – at least physically – he doesn’t believe he’ll have that much to say. Not to Connor, anyway. 

But then again, maybe he needs to do this. Maybe he needs to prove that he’s more, or rather _wants_ to be more than a notch on Kevin’s bedpost. Just because he doesn’t know what more entails yet, doesn’t mean he can’t help speed up the process. 

So, in the end, he gives in.

* * *

_Slice of Life_  
July 10th   
11:28pm 

He’s half-buried under two blankets on the couch when suddenly, there’s a knock on the door. He stares dumbly at it for a moment, considers ignoring it all together because, really, who on earth would even come banging on his door a half-hour to midnight. 

But then he hears a voice through the cracks under it, and god only knows, he lets out the loudest sigh he’s ever heard. It might be subconscious, or it might be because he’s hoping the sound makes its way to the extremely unwelcome visitor. 

“What do you want?” he says, staring blankly at Connor who returns the gesture but with a hint of concern. 

“Can I come in?” 

Kevin rolls his eyes but leaves the door open as he makes his way back to the couch. Connor follows, albeit hesitantly in a way that nearly makes Kevin laugh. 

“What are you doing here?” he says when Connor takes a seat next to him. 

“I just wanted to check if you were okay.” 

“I’m fine,” Kevin tells him and doesn’t like the way Connor looks at him when he does. “Like I said, this has nothing to do with you.” 

“No, I know that. Arnold explained a bit,” Connor says, turning to watch his hands fiddling with the sleeve of his shirt, and Kevin can’t help but wonder if he’s nervous, or just uncomfortable. “Look, I get your time in Uganda was bad and I'm sor-” 

“Bad is an understatement,” Kevin cuts him off with a way-too-harsh laugh. “And you don’t get anything. You can’t.” 

Connor opens his mouth as if to argue but promptly shuts it soon after. He stares for a moment, and Kevin watches his eyes shift between emotions he can’t quite decipher, then he returns his gaze to his hands. “I know,” he says. “I don’t get what you went through, and I've only ever heard Arnold’s version of it. All I'm saying is, I know what it’s like to have baggage.” 

“Really?” Kevin can’t help but snarl. “Orlando must have been so hard on you, what with all the European tourists and old white people. I can’t even imagine your struggle.” 

Connor clenches his jaw with a sigh. “I’m just trying to be nice, for god’s sake.” 

“Yeah well,” Kevin says. “I don’t need your pity.” 

“I don’t pity you, Kevin, jeez,” Connor says, frowning and frustrated, looking as though he’s struggling to find the words. “I just feel...” 

He doesn’t finish the sentence, just keeps his eyes fixed on Kevin’s as his brows knit together. 

“What?” Kevin says, and he isn’t sure why he’s being this way. Why he bites and claws when Connor is reaching out, but he can’t help it. “What do you _feel_?” 

Connor stares, and raises his shoulders in a small shrug as he breathes out something between a sigh and a scoff. “I feel like you don’t want me here,” he says, and Kevin’s eyes roll by reflex. “I feel like no matter what I do, I always fuck something up.” 

He laughs through his nose as he turns away, and Kevin can feel the guilt building in his chest. Connor came all the way here to check on him. That _means_ something, right? Why else would he do it, why else would he sit here and take all the insults Kevin is spewing at him instead of just leaving? It doesn’t make any sense – _they_ don’t make any sense, and yet Kevin wants him closer than ever and to never let go. 

So, he leans in and smashes their lips together in a desperate attempt to erase the images in his head and it works for a while, as Connor responds more and more to the kiss and lets his hands travel from his hair to his neck to his chest and then suddenly, he’s back in Uganda and it isn’t Connor’s hands on him but a cold, hard touch that makes him whimper and pull away. 

Connor lets out a gasp as Kevin tries to steady his breathing. 

“I’m sorry,” he says and he sounds genuinely scared. “I thought you wanted me to, I’m sorry.” 

Kevin shakes his head, keeping his eyes tightly shut because if he presses them together until they hurt, the images get distorted into something resembling a kaleidoscope and it isn’t better per se, but at the very least it’s not a picture-perfect copy of a face, and he might just be able to handle that a bit more. 

Once he gathers himself enough to open his eyes again, Connor’s mouth is hung half-open and his eyes look decidedly horrified. “I’m sorry,” he breathes again, and Kevin doesn’t judge him. 

“Look, I've been dealing with this for seven years,” he says, trying to find words that he isn’t sure even exists. There is no easy way to explain it, really. It’s as simple as not simple at all, and even that makes no sense in Kevin’s head. “You can’t just kiss it better – because it doesn’t get better, not really. It gets easier but it doesn’t change.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“No, I didn’t mean it like- I kissed you, okay,” Kevin says, the words clumsily falling off his lips and he wishes he could do this without stammering or shaking but he just can’t. “It’s just... There’s nothing you can do, Connor.” 

And he doesn’t mean it in a vicious way. He doesn’t mean to say that Connor is useless and serves no point in his life – in his apartment, right now – because he isn’t and he does. He’s honestly starting to become the main reason Kevin does anything these days, and if that doesn’t count for something, he isn’t sure what does. 

Connor only watches him, another apology weighing down his lips but at least he doesn’t voice it this time. Kevin doesn’t want him to, because really, Connor has nothing to apologize for. He came here to make good, to be nice, and maybe, Kevin barely dares consider, be more than the guy he fucks out of frustration. 

“I could stay with you,” Connor says after a while, hesitantly and watching Kevin’s every move. “If you want.” 

Kevin wants to smile, but he ends up shaking his head again. “Shouldn’t you be out celebrating?” 

“Some things...” Connor falters when Kevin meets his eyes, and he lets the words hang in the air for a moment before he offers a trying, slightly strained, smile. “I don’t feel much like celebrating right now.” 

Kevin knows the answer but asks anyway. “Because of me?” 

Connor doesn’t say anything. He just lets the smile linger on his lips as he reaches out, taking Kevin’s hand in his and the last time they did this was when Connor had him pinned to the floor of his truck and wanted to keep his hands from roaming. 

It isn’t like that now. Kevin likes it. Maybe a bit too much. 

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Connor says quietly, and Kevin manages a grateful smile, although a tiny one. 

“I know.” 

They sit like that for a while. Hands intertwined in silence, and it’s nice, in a way. But it’s also awfully strange, being them and all. It’s intimate on an entirely new level and Kevin doesn’t know what it means. Or what’ll happen tomorrow, when they have to go to work and act as though everything is normal. How is he ever going to forget the way he feels right now? The way Connor somehow calms him, the way he stayed by his side? He doesn’t know. He only hopes things won’t be weird, or at the very least, not weirder than they already are. 

“You know,” Connor says after Kevin isn’t sure how long. “I think you’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.” 

Kevin looks at him, and there’s so much emotion in his eyes yet Kevin doesn’t believe a single word of what he just said. “I’m not strong,” he says, and he feels just as weak as his voice sounds. 

“Of course, you are. Are you kidding?” Connor says, a careful smile on his lips. “The fact that you’re still here, that you left the Church – left the state to come here and do something new, something _you_ wanted to do. The fact that you’re still fighting, every day. That’s being strong, Kevin.” 

All those things, Kevin never thought much of at all. Yet when Connor says them, it suddenly makes sense in a completely different way. As if he’s able to see it from another point of view now, one that he wasn’t even aware existed. One that says it’s okay. To fight, and to struggle, and to hurt. To have baggage the size of a Greenland and still deserve to feel things. 

He never really considered it before, because he’s always seen this part of him as a systemic failure that he caused himself. There’s never been anyone else to blame because Kevin doesn’t believe in that, really. Even the times he’s blamed Connor, for making him do things without thinking ahead, making him want things he never would have dared to dream of, even then, he’s always, sort of, deep down, blamed himself. And maybe that’s the biggest mistake he’s made all along. 

He’s still hesitant, but for once, he might be able to allow himself a break and just be. With or without the memories, simple and plain, but at least not quite so lonely. 

He knows he wanted Connor to make up for that godawful abomination of a joke from a few days ago, but he never anticipated it would be like this. 

“I mean,” Connor says when he doesn’t answer, a small and somewhat sad laugh passing his lips. “All I ever went through was being a gay kid in Utah.” 

Kevin frowns, turning to look at him again. “That’s still a pretty big thing, Connor.” 

“Yeah, well, it’s not exactly death and famine, is it?” he says, halfway through a shrug when he notices the frown still evident on Kevin’s face. “Sorry.” 

Kevin shakes his head, and he wants to tell him to stop apologizing for everything. “It’s not a competition,” he says instead, and Connor considers him for a moment, his head tilted to the side and his eyes switching between Kevin’s own. 

“Isn’t everything, though?” he says, a dismal smile forming on his lips that feels so very out of place. “With us?” 

Kevin looks down to where their hands are still entwined and thinks that this doesn’t feel much like competing at all. Whether he likes it or not, he can’t begin to decipher. He’s afraid that if he tries, he’ll spiral and end up doing something much, much more idiotic than simply sitting here. This way, not that much has changed, really. This way they can still go back to normal, go back to playing the game, and things won’t have to be this complicated. 

It’s easier this way, but maybe Kevin doesn’t want easy anymore. 

In the end, he doesn’t say anything, and Connor doesn’t push him. Instead, Kevin inches closer and leans his head against Connor’s shoulder. Connor doesn’t resist, and it doesn’t take too long until he lies down, gently pulling Kevin along with him until his head rests on Connor’s chest, and even though it feels nicer than he’d ever expected, he can’t help but wonder what this means. If anything at all. 

Connor strokes a hand up and down Kevin’s arm but neither of them says anything else. It’s quiet and calm and so very wrong, all at once, yet Kevin doesn’t have the energy to hypothesize. His eyelids are getting heavier by the minute and he doesn’t know how much time has passed, but it’s got to be a while considering how easily he begins drifting off. 

He barely wakes up when Connor carefully disentangles himself from him, still, he doesn’t miss the way Connor lingers. The way he puts one of the blankets on top of him, leaning down to press a soft kiss on Kevin’s forehead. He notices all of it, but he keeps his eyes closed because maybe Connor still thinks he’s sleeping and maybe this way, it doesn’t have to matter. 

“See you tomorrow, Kevin,” Connor says quietly before standing back up, and Kevin doesn’t open his eyes until he hears the door close. He props himself up on one elbow as he reaches for his phone on the coffee table, and as he’d assumed, he received a text from Arnold some fifteen minutes ago reading, “On my way home,” which explains Connor leaving. It’s probably for the best, Kevin doesn’t think he’d be able to explain that situation to anyone right now. 

Still, he wonders, only for a second, that if he’d lived alone, perhaps Connor would have stayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, remember that time I put 'minimal angst' in the tags? Yeah, me either. Kevin is just such a complex character to me, and idk, I really like delving into his past like this, but I tried to keep it light at the same time. I'd also like to point out that I have no personal experience with either rape or sexual abuse/assault so I wasn't really comfortable unpacking the whole thing, and it feels a bit wrong of me to do that anyway since I can't give a fair description, so I tried to touch on it as lightly as possible. 
> 
> I also tried to sprinkle in some Toy Story references, because why not. 
> 
> Am i pumping these out too fast, btw? I only planned on this whole story lasting eight chapters but I clearly underestimated that lol. There isn't too much left though, I don't want it to get repetitive. I've had a habit of doing that before, and in the end, writing just feels like a chore so I'm trying to get this all out before I grow tired of it or I get another idea. Let me know if you'd like the last couple of chapters as soon as they're finished or like, with a bit more than three days between them lmao
> 
> Hope y'all are doing well and staying safe! x


	9. No Wings Attached

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Slice of Life_ \- Kevin's POV
> 
> _Against the Grain_ Connor's POV

#### No Wings Attached

_Slice of Life  
July 11th  
9:09am _

Kevin wakes up from a hand lightly shaking his shoulder the next morning, and he opens his eyes to find Arnold crouched down beside him. 

“I didn’t wanna wake you but,” Arnold says, glancing over to the long since broken clock hung above the doorframe. “It’s nine.” 

“Shit,” Kevin groans, sitting up on the couch with a sigh. His body feels heavier than an anvil despite getting a – mostly – full night’s sleep. “I forgot to set an alarm.” 

Arnold doesn’t move from his spot. Instead, he tilts his head as though he’s looking for red flags in the positively dark circles under Kevin’s eyes. “How’re you feeling?” 

“Good,” Kevin lies but knows Arnold knows him too well to buy it. “Fine, at least.” 

Arnold nods. “I’m sorry I made you watch the play again, I should’ve known better.” 

“No, no, I wanted to go. I wanted to support you, it’s just,” Kevin says, shaking his head slightly as he searches for the words. “I thought I'd be able to handle it, you know? It’s been a while since I thought about, well, all that, and I guess I just reckoned I'd be okay with it by now. Or I _should_ be, anyway.” 

Arnold considers him for a moment, his head still tilted to one side and his face twisted in focused concern. “No,” he thinks out loud as he rises from the floor to sit down next to Kevin on the couch. “There is no should, you should never be okay with it. Working past it and healing, sure, but you should never think that what happened to you is okay, because it isn’t.” 

Kevin winces, if only but a little. “You know what I mean.” 

“I do. I just wanna make sure that _you_ know what _I_ mean,” Arnold smiles carefully, giving him a light nudge with his elbow. “I can write him out if you want.” 

Kevin shakes his head. “No, you don’t have to do that,” he says. “The show wouldn’t make sense without him, it’s just. Maybe I don’t have to go to every single performance?” 

Arnold gives a light chuckle that, despite the melancholy tension, manages to sound as full of heart as most things Arnold does. “Of course not, bud,” he says. “The fact that you sat through yesterday is more than enough. You didn’t have to stay, you know. You never have to stay if it makes the memories come back.” 

Kevin offers a trying smile and attempts to fill it with as much gratitude as he physically can. “I know,” he says with a small shrug. “I just wanted to be there for you.” 

Arnold presses his lips together with a thoughtful hum, and Kevin can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking about. “Do you still see his face?” comes the answer to that question, and it isn’t exactly a topic Kevin would have preferred. 

“Yeah,” he says regardless, and lets out what is meant to sound like an amused breath but comes out more like a sigh. “It’s funny, I can barely remember what Kimbe or Gotswana look like, but him? It’s like _that’s_ the one face I'll never be able to get rid of.” 

Arnold’s eyebrows furrow as Kevin looks away. The more he thinks about it, the more realistic the image gets, and he’d rather it stayed an incomprehensible mess that’s daunting, yes, but at least isn’t the manifestation of his nightmares come to life. “Did you ever talk to any of the doctors I looked up for you?” 

Kevin closes his eyes instinctively and knows it’s the biggest giveaway he could’ve possibly given. “No,” he admits, because Arnold has doubtlessly already figured. 

“I don’t wanna push you, you know that,” Arnold says and Kevin believes him. “I just thought it might help.” 

“I know, I just don’t feel like I need it,” Kevin says, trying his best to explain his reasoning despite it barely making sense in his own head. “There are so many people who are struggling, who have it way worse than I do. I just don’t wanna take up time someone else might need more.” 

Arnold doesn’t answer. Instead, he nods his head slowly, letting his eyes drift from Kevin’s face to nothing in particular, and Kevin knows the blank look in his eyes means he’s deep in thought. Not that he blames him. Kevin has a tendency of rejecting any offer of help he’s given, even from the people he trusts, and although he knows that Arnold only wants what’s best for him, it seems he can never fully allow himself to climb aboard the lifeboat circling him in the water. He stays put, relying on his sufficient ability to float and keep his head just inches above the surface. 

After a while, Arnold comes back to this dimension and turns to Kevin with a smile. “Okay, I'm making an executive decision right now,” he says as Kevin watches in bemusement. “You’re not working today.” 

“What?” Kevin nearly laughs. “Arnold, you’re kidding, right?” 

“No,” he says, as persistent as Arnold often has the ability to sound. “You and I are taking a personal day.” 

Kevin shoots him a bored look despite himself. “That’s not a thing.” 

“It very much is,” Arnold says. “And we’re gonna spend the day right here, talk about our feelings, and watch Disney movies.” 

Kevin can’t help the bewildered laugh that escapes his lungs as his best friend confidently beams. “We don’t have any ice cream,” he says because he doesn’t know what else he can do, really. If Arnold wants him to stay in all day, there is no use fighting. Arnold is very adept at getting what he wants, sometimes even more so than Kevin. 

“Oh, you bet your ass we do,” Arnold says. “I may or may not have bought, like, fifteen tubs on the way home last night. I figured we might need it.” 

“Jesus, Arn,” Kevin laughs but can’t say he’s that surprised. “What kind?” 

“Ben & Jerry’s.” 

“You got fifteen tubs of Ben & Jerry’s?” Kevin says, struggling to decide whether to scowl or laugh. “Do you know how expensive that is? You coulda just gotten some generic shit.” 

“Nah,” Arnold brushes him off with a wave of his hand. “You deserve a BJ.” 

And with that, Kevin nearly chokes on his spit. “Oh god, don’t say it like that.” 

Arnold wags a warning finger. “BJ stands for two things – Ben & Jerry’s and Beetlejuice,” he says with a smile. “I don’t know what dirty gutter your mind went to, but that’s not how the brain of Arnold operates.” 

Kevin laughs but offers a grateful smile shortly after. “Thanks,” he says as Arnold gets up from the couch. 

“Don’t mention it,” he says with a shrug, as if none of this is out of the ordinary at all. “Now, do you want Cookie Dough or Cold Brew?” 

Kevin considers the offer with great care, but eventually turns back to Arnold and says, “Did you get Brownie?” 

“Kevin, who’re you talking to,” Arnold smiles that way he does – broadly and as though he’s gone just a _tiny_ bit insane. “Of course, I got Brownie.” 

They spend the day exactly as Arnold had suggested – on the couch, talking about their feelings while stuffing their faces with nothing but those sweet calories that they’ll both undoubtedly regret tomorrow with a Disney movie rolling on the tv all through the day. It reminds him of when they first moved out here. When their apartment was so tiny that they had no choice but to spend every waking – and sleeping – hour together. When neither of them knew what they wanted, working dead-end jobs that made them want to peel their skin off and be reborn as someone with slightly more realistic prospects for life in New York City. It feels like nostalgia served with a five-and-dime spoon, and hell, if it isn’t the closest thing to homesickness Kevin has experienced since leaving for his mission.

* * *

_Against the Grain  
July 12th  
10:27am _

It’s a quiet day, which to Connor feels very abnormal in terms of his and Kevin’s relationship. He’s been thinking a lot since that night, and he really doesn’t know what to make of it still. It feels obvious but hidden all at once, as though the answer is painted in the blue sky on a cloudy day. He knows it’s there; he just can’t see it. 

Kevin had been here when he arrived this morning, but they haven’t talked yet and Connor isn’t even sure how to approach the situation. He hadn’t been here yesterday which was odd, considering Kevin never takes a full day off work unless he’s physically unable to move or actually dead. Yet, this morning, he showed up as always, seemingly in normal shape and it only makes Connor want to ask about his whereabouts a tiny bit. 

Still, he stays at a distance because he’s honestly not certain what Kevin wants him to do. What if he stayed home yesterday _because_ of Connor? Because of the way he showed up at his doorstep out of nowhere, the way he held his hand and listened to him, the way he’d watched Kevin fall asleep and the way he’d loved being so close to him. What if Kevin felt none of those things the way Connor did? What if he genuinely doesn’t want there to be more than playful banter, hot sex, and the occasional gentleness between them? What if Connor’s falling and Kevin’s the one who cut his wings? 

He tries to ignore it. Tries to consider the possibilities and facts as they are, but it’s difficult. Because sure, Kevin has been pursuing him for some time now, and sure, he hadn’t pushed Connor away when they started getting closer, but even if there is so much more that needs exploring, Connor wouldn’t know where to begin. Kevin Price is a bundle of loose ends, and Connor really never learned how to tie knots very well. 

“Hey.” 

Connor jumps. He hadn’t realized it but he’d apparently been too deep in thought to notice when Kevin came through the backdoor of his truck. 

“Hi,” he says cautiously, confused by the contrast of Kevin being here without the intention of getting him naked. Or so he assumes, anyway. 

But Kevin screws up his face at Connor’s hesitation, and that could mean just about anything as far as Connor’s concerned. “Please don’t be weird,” he says, his eyes looking almost pleading before the corner of his mouth quirks into a small smile. “I still hate you, you know.” 

Connor laughs, and it’s more unexpected to himself than it seems to be to Kevin. “Sure, you do,” he says to which Kevin pulls a face that can only be described as knowingly dishonest. As if he’s very aware that his statement had been nothing but a purebred lie. 

Kevin sighs, looking away for a moment while Connor only watches. He takes the opportunity to search his face, for clues or answers or something that can fill the blank space on the folder in his head labeled Kevin Price. He comes up short, though, as usual. 

“Look, I'm only gonna say this once so you’d better savor it because it’s never happening again,” Kevin says after a while as he turns back to look at him. There’s hesitation in his eyes, but Connor has learned that hesitation doesn’t exactly do much to stop Kevin. “Thank you.” 

It’s so simple. It’s two words they both speak every day to every customer they serve, and yet it’s so much more. It doesn’t quite answer all of Connor’s questions, but at least it soothes the one. Kevin had appreciated him being there, him reaching out, and staying. It isn’t a lot to go by but it’s enough, Connor has survived on less before. 

“Now can we go back to, you know, normal,” Kevin says when Connor doesn’t answer, and he looks rather averse to the idea himself but that could just be Connor’s wishful thinking. 

“Gladly,” he says despite himself, but settles once he sees the smile forming on Kevin’s lips. 

If this is all they are, then so be it. Connor will at least make sure to enjoy it while it lasts.

* * *

_Slice of Life  
July 23th  
12:48pm_

It’s been almost two weeks of normalcy now. Or at least as close as they get to it, and it suffices just fine to Kevin. Connor hasn’t been working much due to the play, and the days he’s been at work, they’ve gone along as though nothing really changed at all. Except there’s less of a bite to their conversations, and sure, it’s nice, but Kevin misses the adrenaline of getting Connor McKinley all worked up. 

Perhaps it’ll return to normal once the show closes tonight. When he’ll have nothing else distracting him and they’ll be forced to spend all day in close proximity to each other again. Not that anything is stopping them from parking their trucks somewhere else, but Kevin knows neither of them will, anyway. They’re both too predictable to do something so drastic, and besides, Kevin doesn’t really want to and he knows Connor doesn’t either. 

Still, suggesting they go back to normal might not have been Kevin’s best move in hindsight. Because first of all, there is no normal anymore, and second, he doesn’t want normal, anyway. He still wants the heat and the fire and the passion, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want the softness and the care and the intimacy, too. Hell, he might even want romance, and that’s not something Kevin Price is used to wanting. 

But as a rusty, inexperienced oaf, he barely knows what romance entails these days. He doesn’t keep up with pop culture, he doesn’t watch romantic movies or tv shows from this millennium. Everything Kevin knows about love, he’s learned from movies made for children. Movies where the girl gets the boy, where the frog is actually a prince, where people fall in love at first glance and stays in love for the rest of their lives. Movies where happy ever afters exist and where evil is a force to be reckoned with but can be overpowered by something as mundane as a kiss. A true love’s kiss, sure, but Kevin isn’t quite sure he believes in those, anyway. 

He wants the fairytale ending. Always has, always will, but he’s starting to realize – as a goddamned twenty-seven-year-old – that maybe, he’ll have to settle for a happy one. And he is quite happy whenever Connor is around. 

In the end, though, after hours and hours of contemplating and analyzing the ifs and buts of their relationship – what can be if they only take the leap – he still makes the bad decision. 

“What the hell are you wearing?” Connor stares when he sees him. 

“Oh, this? D’ya like it?” Kevin says casually, gesturing to the shirt he hasn’t touched in years, and yet, here he is, wearing it now and only to get a rise out of Connor. “I found it in the back of my closet, it’s from this show Arnold dragged me to when we first moved here. What’s it called again?” 

“It literally says on the shirt.” 

“Paper boys? Reporters?” 

Connor glares but tries to brush it off as boredom. “Newsies?” 

Kevin snaps his fingers. “That’s the one,” he says with a coy smile. “Arnold insisted we get matching shirts – he's just sentimental like that, and then he insisted we go to the, I don’t know, backdoor of the theatre-” 

“Stage door.” 

“-and would you believe, some of the actors came out and signed them for us,” Kevin says, glancing down to the names scribbled across his chest and abdomen. “Who’s that guy you’re always talking about? Jimmy something?” 

Connor clicks his tongue with a scoff. “Jeremy Jordan?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Kevin says, as if he hadn’t memorized the name for this exact moment. “He signed it too. Nice guy, really. You’ve never actually met him, right?” 

“What’s your game, Price?” Connor narrows his eyes with clear suspicion. 

Kevin feigns innocence. “What makes you think I got game?” 

Connor scoffs again as he turns away and Kevin almost thinks the conversation is over before Connor turns back around. “Don’t you ever get tired of this?” he says, looking slightly bemused but not very annoyed at all. “Of trying to get on my nerves?” 

Kevin considers him, trying to read his face as well as he can but there’s too much going on to draw any real conclusions, so instead, he shrugs halfheartedly. “Guess it’s just one of those instances where the novelty never quite wears off.” 

Connor doesn’t answer, but there’s a twitch in his lips that says more than any words could. Maybe it was a bad decision, but at least he’s getting a reaction again. He’s getting more than strange tension and strained politeness. He’s getting Connor worked up and it’s still enough to spike his blood with adrenaline.

* * *

_Slice of Life  
July 24th  
3:15pm_

Kevin – much as he always does – forgot to consider the consequences of starting the game back up again. He forgot how much work and effort it takes to put up a constant wall of defense, and more importantly, he forgot Connor will, without question, strategize a counterattack. Still, he thinks it’s almost endearing how Connor shows up the next day wearing a pair of Mickey Mouse ears. 

“What the hell are those?” Kevin snorts when Connor rolls in around three pm. Considering last night’s performance was their last, Kevin really hadn’t anticipated Connor showing at all. Still, he’d worn the same shirt as yesterday, _just in case_. 

“Oh, these? D’ya like them?” Connor copies Kevin’s nonchalance to the exact wording. “I was randomly going through some mementoes I got while on my mission and would you believe, I just happened to find these.” 

Kevin nearly forgets it’s just a ploy as he holds back a scoff. Disney has that effect on him. “Really?” he says instead, raising an expectant eyebrow to nudge Connor further. 

“Yeah, I think I got them at my, I don’t know, eighth time at Disney World,” he shrugs with a knowing smile plastered proudly on his lips. “I never liked it. In fact, it sucked every damn time.” 

Kevin rolls his eyes, a habit that’s become more and more innate to him since getting to know Connor. He watches Connor watch him, the familiarity a bit too on the nose for his liking. But at least it is familiar. At least they’re back to their old selves, wanting and desperately so, without the complications and messed up pasts. They can keep it light and playful, and nothing has to mean a thing. 

Still, he can’t help but sound just a bit vexed as he says, “Take them off,” and steps closer. 

Connor is quick to counter. “Take the shirt off.” Waving a hand about in the general direction of Kevin’s torso and, for some reason, it makes him smile. 

“We’re in public.” 

“As if that’s ever stopped you before.” 

“We’re at _work_.” 

Connor raises his eyebrows in amusement as he smirks. “Yeah, same answer.” And it’s just taunting enough to grind his gears. 

They leave it at a standstill, though. Which is probably for the best considering they are, as Kevin so kindly pointed out, both in public and at work, but he isn’t ready to just leave it at that. Last night had been Connor’s last performance and as far as he knows, that means he’ll be back every day and they can’t continue this dance forever. 

So, maybe it’s another bad idea, but it seems good enough at the moment. 

“Arnold’s out tonight,” he says, breaking the silence that had stretched for far too long to be normal. “He won’t be back till tomorrow morning.” 

The corner of Connor’s mouth curls into a wry smile that does nothing to Kevin’s feelings _at all_. “Is that an invite, Price?” 

It is, quite obviously, too. If it’s any more than that, he doesn’t know. They’ll find out tonight, either way, and it somehow manages to both scare the living shit out of him and make his heart skip at least a handful of beats. “Don’t wear those ears,” is all he says in response, glancing up to the accessory in Connor’s hair that makes him look twice as adorable and should quite frankly be illegal. “Or on second thought – I don’t mind.” 

Connor wrinkles his nose but smiles regardless. “You're disgusting.” 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Kevin says, struggling to keep his pulse steady and when Connor doesn’t argue, he leaves with a smile, only to go back and hyperventilate in the privacy of his own truck. 

Did he just invite Connor McKinley to his house? As if that’s his biggest concern – did he just invite Connor McKinley on a fucking _date_?

* * *

_Against the Grain_  
July 24th  
8:29pm 

It’s not a date. It’s not anything but that vine of those dudes not being gay in a hot tub, except it’ll be very gay and probably in a bed. But it’s not a date, of that he’s certain. 

He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it all day, and every time he’d gotten a case of momentary amnesia, Kevin had just happened to appear in his line of sight to force the thoughts to continue snowballing. It’s not a date, it’s another late-night rendezvous. They’ve had sex before; it isn’t that weird. People go to other people’s houses all the time for sex. It’s not a date just because Kevin invited him over. 

He tries to pick out an outfit but the more he thinks about it, the more self-conscious he gets about looking good yet not looking as if he’s trying too hard, and it just makes a mess of things. It’s not a date, he’s just indecisive. He’s always been indecisive; it took Connor two months to pick out a headshot for his resume. In the end, he settles on something that looks casual enough that Kevin won’t think he spent an hour in front of his mirror, but dressy enough to get him into most clubs. A tight pair of jeans and a classic button-down. It shouldn’t matter, because if he’s read the situation right, he’ll be spending more time out of the clothes than in them. 

It isn’t a date just because he kind of wants it to be. 

Kevin hadn’t been very specific about the time, and he considers sending him a text asking but decides to just go for it. If Arnold’s there, he’ll blame it on something. He is an actor, after all, he knows how to improvise. At least well enough to get away with something like that. 

As he makes for the door, though, a voice nearly gives him a heart attack as he spins around to find Naba perched on the couch. 

“Oh my goodness, I did not know you were home,” he blurts, clutching a hand over his heart as if to calm it down. “Hi.” 

Naba lets out a bewildered but amused breath as she narrows her eyes. “Well, that wasn’t weird,” she says. “Where are you going?” 

“Nowhere, I'm just, you know, going out,” Connor says. Sure, he’s an actor, but no acting in the world can conceal the truth from Nabulungi Hatimbi. “I go out all the time, what’s the big deal.” 

“Who are you going with?” Naba pushes, clearly enjoying watching him squirm. “Is it a date, by any chance?” 

Connor’s eyes widen with panic but he tries to keep his head screwed on. “I uh, yeah. It is, yeah, uh-huh,” he says, or rather stammers but he’s already made a fool of himself, don’t be cruel. “Yeah, with this guy I met at work a while back – _ha ha, not him_ – it's that guy I gave my number to and then never texted back. Until now, obviously, I'm meeting him now, so uh, I'll probably stay the night there and, yeah.” 

Naba nods her head with a hum, turning her attention back to her phone which Connor takes as a chance to leave. Only he doesn’t make it through the door before Naba calls, “Tell Kevin I said hi,” after him and that is _not_ how he’s going to leave things. 

“Okay, that is _not_ funny,” he says, walking back in with an accusatory finger pointed at her that only makes her laugh. “I would never – gross. I honestly feel insulted.” 

“Oh, please,” Naba says, her eyes far too knowing. “What’s this guy’s name then?” 

Connor hadn’t thought that far ahead. Where is that improvisation when he needs it? “It’s... Steve.” 

“Steve?” Naba repeats with a stare that’s somehow bored and amused at the same time. “Does he have a last name?” 

“Bla...ine,” comes a perfectly terrible rescue of a dead giveaway. 

“Steve Blaine?” Naba laughs. “Do you honestly think I'm that dumb?” 

Connor feigns innocence. Quite poorly, too. “What?” 

“You were obviously going to say Blade because whenever you’re prompted to give a name you go straight to your childhood crush.” 

Connor doesn’t like it one bit when Naba plays psychology. “I do not,” he protests, much to Naba’s enjoyment. “His name is Steve Blaine, it’s very common, don’t look it up.” 

Naba doesn’t give in, because when has she ever. “You’re a terrible liar.” 

Connor crosses his arms with conviction. “Good job I'm not lying then.” 

“Babe, I know Arnold’s out of town tonight,” Naba says, tilting her head to one side as she watches him expectantly. “Seems like the perfect time, doesn’t it?” 

Connor scoffs. It’s not like he’s doing a good job of denying her implications but she can at least cut him some slack. “Shut up,” he says when she doesn’t drop the smile on her face and turns back around to the door with a loud sigh. “And you’re still wrong.” 

“Sure, I am,” she laughs. “Just be careful, alright.” 

He turns around before closing the door, offering her a smile that says neither thank you nor go to hell, but lands somewhere in the middle. A gray area of gratitude he hopes she understands and knowing Naba, he’s more than certain she does. “Always am,” he says, and then he’s off, and dear lord, if his heart isn’t racing. 

Once he’s on the subway there, he gives himself a moment to think. It isn’t a date, because Kevin Price and Connor McKinley aren’t people who date, and they’re especially not people who date one another. But then why is he so nervous? Why does it feel like he’s doing something extraordinary when he’s just going over there to hookup? Why does he want this more than he wants Andrew Rannells to win a Tony? 

He wonders if Kevin’s having the same train of thought, spiraling into a loop of thinking it is a date and then thinking it’s not a date and then thinking it might be a date and on and on and on and suddenly, the train stops and he has to get off and he’s outside Kevin’s apartment before his mind has time to settle on one option. 

Maybe it doesn’t matter what tonight is. Maybe they’ll just have to find out as they go along. 

He takes his time in the stairwell leading up to Kevin and Arnold’s place, taking every step with a bit more caution than he ever has before and it takes him a good four minutes until he makes it to the third floor. He stops outside the door, not sure what to do or how to act or what to think. Does Kevin consider this a date? Will he be all dressed up or will he be straight to the point and open the door in nothing but his birthday suit? 

He tries leaning against the doorframe, tries looking casual as if he’s done this a hundred times and Kevin is just one in the crowd of many, but quickly realizes he looks more like a complete idiot than a suave James Bond kind of smooth. Instead, he lifts his hand as if to knock, knowing full well that there’s a doorbell and it takes so much, so ridiculously much to just bring his hand an inch from the door, and when he doesn’t quite make it, he turns around with a sigh because this is just hope- 

“Connor?” 

He spins back around so fast he might do a full pirouette, but manages to stop with his face in the right direction as he makes some sort of noise that sounds equal parts startled and inhuman. “Hi.” 

Kevin gives him a bemused look as he lets his eyes travel up and down his body. “How long have you been standing there?” 

“I literally just got here,” Connor lies, making Kevin’s lips twitch. 

He smiles for a second, still scrutinizing every nook and cranny he can see and Connor feels naked despite wearing clothes. Kevin is too, he notes. Kevin is wearing pretty nice clothes, not date-night-at-the-opera nice, but at least take-your-mom-out-to-dinner nice, which only fuels the webs spinning in his mind. 

Kevin lets out an amused breath before he nods his head toward the door. “Yeah, there’s a peephole,” he says casually, and Connor turns to look and sure enough, there’s a small glass lens in the door that suddenly makes his lie very blatant. 

When Kevin doesn’t drop the grin, Connor turns around with a, “You know what, I'm gon-” 

“Hey,” Kevin stops him, with both words and action as he gently grabs Connor’s wrist and pulls him inside. “Come on.” 

Connor complies, because what else can he do, really. 

It’s so weird, being back in this apartment when the last time he’d been here, Kevin had been so vulnerable and open with him. He isn’t sure what to expect, but it certainly isn’t a set table. 

“I didn’t know if you’d be hungry, so,” Kevin trails off, and if Connor doesn’t know any better, he’d think Kevin was blushing. 

“You cooked for me?” 

“Oh, don’t make it into-” he says but cuts himself off with a sigh. “I need food too, you know. I just figured I'd make enough for two.” 

Connor smiles, taking a seat at the table and inspecting the dish. It’s definitely Kevin’s style of food, but he can’t help noticing it mainly consists of pasta and vegetables. “You didn’t have to make it vegan,” he takes a guess and smiles even bigger when Kevin confirms his suspicions. 

“Well,” he says, shooting him a bored glance from the other end of the table. “I was afraid you might cry if I didn’t.” 

Connor doesn’t argue. He doesn’t even tease, because Kevin, no matter what he plays it off as, cooked for him and he’s wearing nice clothing and Connor is pretty sure he can smell cologne and _shit_ , this is a date, isn’t it? 

They eat mostly in silence since Kevin shuts down most of Connor’s attempts at small talk and he figures it makes sense. They’ve never been acquainted like that, it’s always been more or less, and this feels like both at the same time. 

“So, where’s Arnold?” he asks after a while anyway, and it seems he’s found a topic that Kevin can at least give the time of day. 

“Salt Lake,” he says between bites. “His cousin’s getting married.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yup.” 

“He still gets invited to weddings?” 

“Yup.” 

Connor hesitates for a moment before asking, “Do you?” 

Kevin looks up from his plate. “Let’s not talk about the Church,” he says. “We both left for a reason, right?” 

“Technically, you were excommunicated,” Connor says. He can’t help it, and Kevin returns the correction with a bored stare and a scoff. 

“You really are the salt in my wounds, aren’t you?” 

Connor shuts his mouth, suddenly struck by a pang of guilt. Kevin’s past is a sore spot, and for some reason, he keeps pushing it. “I didn’t mean it like-” 

“I’m messing, Connor,” Kevin cuts him off with a laugh and it’s so light that Connor compares it to blowing soap bubbles on a summer day. “Much like the saying, I am more sensitive to sticks and stones.” 

Connor only stares in response. He’s still trying to make sense of everything. Of him and Kevin, of tonight, of the back and forth that never ends despite being at a standstill. It looks so easy in the movies, and Connor thinks it’s false advertising to make romance seem so simple. This isn’t simple, this is a maze with two entrances and no exits. This is a crossword puzzle without clues. This is the physical manifestation of trying to find the zodiac killer. 

“Are you finished?” Kevin asks when Connor doesn’t say anything, gesturing to the plate in front of him, and even now he only manages a nod. 

As Kevin clears the table and Connor only sits there like an idiot, he tries to clear his mind of any wandering thoughts. He doesn’t need them right now, he just needs to shake off the nerves, make this whole thing seem like nothing out of the ordinary, and then maybe, he’ll be able to relax enough to enjoy himself. 

“So,” he says when Kevin comes back and he gives him an expectant look in response. 

“So?” 

“You still haven’t shown me your room.” 

Kevin cocks an eyebrow with a wry smile. “You in a rush, McKinley?” 

“No, I'm just saying, you’re a twenty-seven-year-old Disney fanatic,” he says, trying his best to sound indifferent. “That’s bound to be... interesting.” 

Kevin watches him for a moment, lets his eyes travel across his face and it’s intimate in ways it shouldn’t be. Or maybe it should, Connor doesn’t know right from wrong anymore and it’s starting to become a hazard, really. “Yeah, well,” Kevin says, nodding his head toward the hall as he starts walking. “Prepare to be disappointed.” 

Kevin Price does not have posters of Disney princesses on his walls, and Connor honestly doesn’t know why he expected him to. It’s just that one part of him that is somehow so unpredictable when Connor can read so much as every other detail, and it shows itself in such weird ways. Like Kevin being a stripper, or Kevin being a pretty decent singer, or Kevin allowing Connor to see him at his most vulnerable. Connor can read him like an open book, only, every once in a while, there happens to be a page in ancient Greek. 

He looks around, noting that Kevin is either very organized, or he cleaned his room beforehand. Either way, it’s kind of impressive and stupidly sweet, but Connor decides not to dwell. To be fair, his room looks like any twenty-something-year-old's would, and the only thing standing out to him is the bookcase with quite a hefty collection of animated movies. Not necessarily a surprise, but it’s the only thing that really sets it apart from others he’s been to. 

Kevin sits down on the bed and watches Connor explore. He doesn’t say anything, but then, he doesn’t need to because Connor can feel his eyes burning holes in his skin, but he ignores it for now. He’s not about to give it up that easy, Connor likes to think of himself as just the right amount of prudish. And with that said, he’s obviously denying that they’ve had sex on the floor of his food truck on more than one occasion. 

After a while, he turns around, noting something off about the room. It doesn’t reek of testosterone, which Connor has learned most men’s rooms do despite most efforts of keeping it fresh. Kevin can’t be an exception. He just can’t. 

“Were you burning incense?” he says, and Kevin’s eyes find his almost instantly. 

“What? No.” 

“Okay, well, no offense – or actually, full offense,” Connor says, leaning against the desk by the window. “But I don’t believe your room actually smells this nice.” 

Kevin only stares, but there’s something playing on his face that Connor can’t quite place and suddenly, comes the next unpredictable piece of information Connor never knew he needed. 

“I may have lit a scented candle.” 

Connor awes. “Kevin Price owns scented candles,” he says with a smile. “Well, folks, I think I've seen it all.” 

Kevin scoffs but doesn’t play along, seemingly too busy making eyes at Connor that are far too difficult to ignore. Still, he tries to play coy. Tries to look flirty and enticing and all the things he hopes drive Kevin insane as he slowly makes his way over to the bed. Kevin is still sat at the edge, watching with hooded eyes and his lips parted, and finally, there’s some familiarity that makes it easier, for some reason. 

He stops with only a step to go, glancing down on Kevin with suggestive eyes as he opens his mouth. “So, do you wanna watch a movie or...” 

“Just get over here already,” Kevin groans and pulls him in by the wrist. 

Connor lands on top of him but Kevin is quick to turn them around and good god, Connor has missed his lips on his skin. It’s only been a week or so but it feels like an eternity and Connor could stay here forever. 

It doesn’t end like the movies, because believe it or not, not all orgasms happen simultaneously, and Kevin’s stamina is still slightly worse than Connor’s but it isn’t as weird as he’d worried it might be. Kevin finishes him off and then they just lie there. In a bundle of sweat and sex and heavy breathing but it’s nice, in a way, and Kevin doesn’t look as though he expects him to leave. 

So he doesn’t. 

Instead, he rolls over on his side so that they’re facing each other and Kevin watches him with careful eyes as Connor is more than certain his own are, too. It’s silent but sweet. Strange but familiar. Confusing but obvious, all at once. Kevin Price has brown eyes, and Connor thinks he might be drowning in them. 

He isn’t sure how much time has passed, but somewhere along the way they moved from lying face to face to Kevin lying on his back and Connor curled up against his side, his head resting on Kevin’s chest, and he’s fairly certain he can feel the rhythm of Kevin’s heartbeat against his cheek. Kevin strokes a hand along his back, and he isn’t sure if it’s subconscious or not but he’s afraid that if he points it out, Kevin will stop and that’s the very last thing he wants. 

He wants close and intimate and soft. He wants more and less all at once and he thinks he might just, _maybe_ , with as much emphasis as he can inflect, want it with Kevin. 

“You know, it’s really annoying,” he says, the only indication to Kevin still even being awake, the still-moving hand across his back. “The way you keep proving me wrong.” 

He can feel Kevin’s chest rising and falling as he answers, “And how’s that?” 

“I don’t know, I thought I had you figured,” he says, attempting a shrug which doesn’t quite work as well as he’d hoped in this position. “I thought you were just this pain in my ass that had no more depth to him than a comic relief in a sitcom from the mid-2000s, yet I feel like you just keep adding layers.” 

Kevin stops the movement of his hand briefly before continuing to draw circles against Connor’s skin that nearly makes him shiver. 

“It’s like every time I peel one off there’s another and another and another,” he continues. “You’re like a hot, male version of a Russian nesting doll.” 

Kevin lets out a laugh through his nose at that and Connor can’t help but smile into his chest. “I think there was a compliment somewhere in there,” he says, and Connor ignores it completely as he pulls away to prop himself up on one shoulder. 

“How can you act so basic when in reality, you’re more complicated than a melisma in a Whitney Houston song,” he says, watching Kevin watch him speak. 

Kevin considers him for a moment as Connor begins to absentmindedly draw circles on his chest, much like Kevin had done to him just seconds ago. “I think everyone’s complicated if you take the time to get to know them,” he says, and Connor screws up his face in disagreement. 

“I’m not.” 

“Sure, you are,” Kevin says without hesitation, and he looks as though it’s carved in stone. “You’ve surprised me too, you know.” 

Connor tilts his head, adjusting it against the palm of his hand and it’s quite uncomfortable but he wants to see Kevin’s face, so he powers through. “How?” he says, not meaning to sound so self-involved, but genuinely curious as to how he’s managed to surprised none other than Kevin Price. 

“Well, first of all, I used to think you had a bad sense of humor, and I've since come to realize it’s actually way, way worse than that,” he says and Connor lets out a playful scoff that Kevin pays no attention to. “You’re smart, you make really weird and specific connections between things, like calling me a melisma, whatever that is.” 

“It’s a vocal run.” 

“Yeah, that doesn’t tell me anything,” Kevin laughs softly before turning away with a shrug. “And you know, you’re kind. Even when you don’t have to be, but then sometimes you’re straight up cruel which is... confusing.” 

Connor doesn’t know what to say. That’s probably the nicest thing Kevin has ever said to him – disregarding the last bit – and he doesn’t have so much as a thank you to offer in return. It’s so strange, how all this came to be. How they went from strangers to competitors to being forced to hang out to willing hanging out to this. It’s strange but he wouldn’t complain for all the money in the world. He wouldn’t change it to be with anyone else, and that’s saying a lot because Connor has about a trillion celebrity crushes. 

He lies back down, resting his head on the pillow next to Kevin’s so he can still see his face without his neck going numb. “I just feel like it’s so unfair,” he says and Kevin turns to watch him. “That your life has been traumatic experiences, one after the other and I've just sort of, cruised.” 

Kevin searches his eyes for a quiet moment but seems to be drawing a blank. “So?” 

“So, you should have every right to be, you know, fucked up, and still I feel like you’re the one who takes – I don’t know, who has to reassure me,” he says, watching as Kevin’s brows furrow slightly. “Should be the other way around, don’t you think?” 

“I think those aren’t set roles,” Kevin says. “I think we’re both allowed to need comforting. Everyone is.” 

“I guess so,” Connor thinks, still feeling as though he’s using an invalid excuse whenever he gets sad or down or anything that isn’t happy, really. “I just feel like I should be so much better. Considering.” 

Kevin raises his eyebrows slightly, waiting for Connor to elaborate but seems to realize quite quickly that he’s not going to. Not without a nudge, at the very least. “Considering what?” 

“You know, that my life has been ridiculously sheltered, meanwhile...” he falters, not entirely sure how to finish the sentence as he’s still not certain of exactly what things Kevin has gone through. He knows some of it, mostly from the play, but Arnold had said there’d been more. Things he couldn’t even use in the show and Connor can only assume it’s because they’d been too dark to include. He managed to put a comedic spin on a guy getting shot in front of them, so whatever else happened during their mission can’t exactly have been mild homophobia and an HPV scare which Connor is more acquainted with. No, it was probably closer to homosexuality being punishable by death and HIV being an actual, real-life threat. Still, he doesn’t want to ask but can’t fully let the subject go, either. “Did you really see someone get shot in the face?” 

Kevin looks at him, and Connor isn’t sure he looks surprised per se, but he seems slightly taken aback and Connor suddenly feels bad. It’s a stupid question, but then again, Connor is usually stupid when it comes to this stuff. Only, no one he’s ever been with has had quite the history Kevin does. 

“Yeah,” Kevin says, turning his head to look at something on the opposite wall. Or perhaps he’s just staring into the air in-between. 

“I’m sorry,” Connor says, because he is, both for bringing it up and that Kevin ever had to experience something like that. God knows if Connor had been sent to Uganda, he might just have died on the spot. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Kevin says but doesn’t look back. 

Connor feels dumb. How he manages to fuck up so royally each and every time is quite frankly impressive, but in the not-so-good kind of way that makes him feel as though he’d sooner be rewarded with a Darwin Award than any medal of honor. 

“Do you want me to leave?” he asks, genuinely asks because Kevin has every reason to. 

The silence doesn’t do much to help Connor’s thoughts, either, and he’s two seconds from getting up and walking out when Kevin utters a quiet, “No.” 

Connor tries to cover up the relieved breath that escapes his lips at that and does so by shuffling around on the spot which in hindsight, is just weird. But Kevin doesn’t mention it, so Connor doesn’t dwell. Instead, he settles in. His head still resting on another pillow than the one Kevin’s is and he looks up to find Kevin is still staring at nothing in particular. 

“You can though, if you want to,” he says after a moment, finally returning his gaze to Connor who meets his eyes with soft understanding. “Leave, I mean.” 

Connor doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to be anywhere else, as corny as it sounds, so instead of answering, he shuffles closer, resting his head in the nook between Kevin’s neck and shoulder and it feels as though it was designed for this moment. As if their bodies had been sculpted to fit together, like a glove fits a hand or a hand fits another. It makes every other person he’s been entangled with pale in comparison. 

“You know you’re gonna have to leave before Arnold gets back, though,” Kevin says, completely ruining the romance novel Connor had been writing in his head and he can’t help but laugh at the comment. 

He can feel Kevin laughing too, if only but a little, as he wraps an arm around his waist and nuzzles closer. “Such a gentleman.” 

Kevin doesn’t answer. Instead, he reaches the arm that isn’t numbing under Connor’s body to stroke along his skin again, in just that way that sends shivers down his spine. Connor lets out a deep breath against his neck as he leans into the touch. This must mean something, he can’t help but think. They can’t deny it after tonight, there’s just no way it doesn’t mean something. It means everything, and everything comes with an abundance of mistakes and fuckups, but it’s okay, he thinks. Because what are humans supposed to do if not learn by doing, learn from their mistakes, and learn through fuckups of royal magnitude. That’s what it boils down to, in the end. Learning to grow through cracks in the concrete, and finding enough sunshine above the surface to stay alive. 

And, Connor considers, perhaps people can be sunlight, too. 

It’s silent for a rather long while again, and they just lie there in the comfort of unspoken understanding. Connor had almost begun thinking Kevin had fallen asleep when he feels a hand reach his face and lightly nudge his chin upward. He takes the hint and tilts his head back, searching in the pitch-black darkness for a pair of lips that were tailored to meld with his own and it’s so much different than before. For once, Connor doesn’t feel as though they’re both the same poles of two magnets, but instead opposites, and they don’t push anymore, but pull, and it just makes sense somehow. 

He props himself up on his shoulder as they deepen the kiss, and Kevin pulls away for a brief moment to turn the lights back on. If Connor thought Kevin was intoxicating when there was passion and desperation and steam, he has no idea what to call him now. When Kevin’s kissing him slowly and deeply and with such care and attention that it sends his brain into overdrive. He’s seen Kevin come undone plenty of times now but he’s never really looked into his eyes this way. He’s never had Kevin reach up and cup his cheek this gently. This doesn’t feel like the standard one-night stand experience he’s had before, but then they both know it isn’t a one-time thing and if he can read Kevin’s eyes as well as he thinks, they’re horrified and wanting all at once, and Connor thinks that Kevin’s wings must have started to give in too. Only this time, Connor’s already back on steady ground and will gladly wait with his arms outstretched to soften the collision once he falls. 

Connor doesn’t know a lot about love, and he’s not saying that he loves Kevin or that he’s _in_ love with Kevin, but he thinks this might be the closest thing to something like that he’s ever gotten, and needless to say, it scares the living shit out of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 5am. I'm tired. That's all I have to offer today, unfortunately. 
> 
> Thanks for answering the question about too quick chapters btw, Imma post them as soon as they're done because I'll admit, I'm kinda sorta in love with this too, but like, as a proud parent or something of the sort. 
> 
> Also - I was just gonna put the entirety Marvin's last lines during Falsettoland/About Time ( you know the one _it's about growing up getting older living on a lover's shoulder learning love is not a crime it's about time it's about time it's about ti-_ ) when Connor talks about 'what it all boils down to' but changed my mind as it didn't quite fit the scene, and then I thought I'd just put it in but crossed out so you'd know I was gonna do it then I thought that might've been slightly too meta. So I'm telling you here, I guess. That wasn't nearly as interesting as it sounded in my mind lmao
> 
> Take care and stay safe y'all, and I'll see you in a few days (three, it'll probably be three days according to the stupidly incomprehensible schedule in my head) xx


	10. Joint Effort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Slice of Life_ \- Kevin's POV
> 
> _Against the Grain_ \- Connor's POV
> 
> TW: a lil bit drugs, but it's just pot so it's mostly nonsensical conversations and fits of laughter, dw

#### 

Joint Effort 

_Slice of Life_  
_July 25th_  
_7:12am_

He never expected it to go quite like this. He didn’t expect waking up to Connor McKinley sleeping next to him in his bed without the looming fear of being trapped in a Hell Dream. He didn’t expect it to be so peaceful and yet here he is, his arm wrapped around Connor’s waist, and Connor’s back pressed against his chest. 

He had definitely not expected to like it this much. 

Connor doesn’t snore. His breaths are so tranquil and quiet that Kevin would have thought he wasn’t breathing at all if it weren’t for his chest rising and falling rhythmically. It’s so strange, yet so oddly comforting, and he can’t help but wonder why he hasn’t wanted this before. He never was that good at dating, never seemed to get into the swing of things, and usually ended up blowing his chances before anything could get serious. He’s always had trouble letting people in. Arnold is really the only person he trusts enough to rely on, and that’s mostly due to his persistent personality and the fact that he latched onto Kevin from the very first time they met. If he hadn’t, Kevin isn’t sure they’d even be friends today, but he’s ever thankful they are. 

Connor is different, though. He’s not like Arnold; he never stuck to Kevin like clingfilm. In fact, he didn’t even seem to like him very much at first, which makes sense since Kevin kind of forced this rivalry on them as soon as they’d met. Still, he’s here now. Despite the competition, despite the games. If Kevin fucked things up, Connor doesn’t seem to mind, and really, that’s the most confusing thing of all. 

He gently disentangles himself from Connor and gets off the bed as quietly as he possibly can. He hasn’t done this in years, hasn’t had another person in his bed for so long and he’s sort of forgotten what to do. So, he heads for the bathroom, brushes his teeth, and fixes himself up a little. Why, he isn’t sure, but Arnold will be back by eight and Kevin wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep if he so wanted to. 

When he gets back, Connor is still sound asleep, and Kevin can’t help but stare for just a moment. He lies back down next to him, lightly shaking his shoulder until a quiet groan can be heard. 

“Connor,” he says softly, barely more than a whisper past his lips. “It’s seven thirty.” 

Connor doesn’t answer but offers a few noises that let Kevin know he’s both awake and not too happy about it. Kevin nearly laughs. 

“Arnold will be here in half an hour,” he says instead, more insistent in the way he’s shaking Connor because the groans he gets in response are kind of cute, not that he would ever admit it. 

“Who the hell takes a night flight,” Connor mumbles with a sigh. 

Kevin smiles, letting his hand come to a rest and strokes a finger up and down his arm instead. “Someone flying on a budget,” he says, and when he gets no further response from Connor, he resumes the shaking with a drawn-out, “Come oooon.” 

Connor rolls over with a grunt and Kevin watches as his eyes flutter open to look at him. “But I'm still tired. 

“I’ll make you some coffee,” Kevin says, trailing a finger along the curves of Connor’s body. 

“Dinner and coffee,” Connor says, eyes closed but smiling. “Who knew you were this hospitable.” 

“Mhm,” Kevin hums. “If it weren’t for the fact that we have to work and, you know, that no one knows about,” he gestures between them despite Connor’s eyes still being shut,” this, I might’ve even treated you to brunch.” 

And at that, Connor’s eyes flick open with a grin. “I don’t believe Kevin Price goes out to brunch.” 

Kevin doesn’t answer. Instead, he raises a challenging eyebrow as he looks down on Connor, and he’s only somewhat tempted to lean down to kiss him. “Then I suggest you just take the coffee I'm offering.” 

Connor laughs through his nose as he seems to be too tired to commit to an actual one. “Your coffee’s shit,” he smiles, and Kevin rolls his eyes as he knows Connor expected him to. 

“Well,” he says with a shrug. “It’s all I have to offer.” 

Connor watches him for a moment, heavy eyes searching every inch of Kevin’s face before he briefly closes them again, as if blinking in slow motion. “I’ll take it.” 

“Good,” Kevin says, his eyes lingering on Connor’s looking up at him. He looks unkempt but in the most gorgeous of ways. His hair a red, tousled mess, his eyes heavy and tired, his body wrapped up in the crumpled cream-colored duvet. He looks a mess, but a positively hot one. “I’ll be in the kitchen.” 

Kevin resists the urge to place a kiss anywhere his lips can reach as he makes a move to get out of the bed, but a hand wraps around his wrist before he even makes it to the edge. 

“Wait,” Connor says, lightly pulling him back down and Kevin doesn’t fight. Connor is still lying on his back, glancing up at him with his chin slightly outstretched and Kevin takes the hint with a smile, leaning down until their lips meet in a soft, gentle kiss that feels to Kevin like dreaming. He doesn’t care that Connor has morning breath or that his tongue is a bit rough against his own, he only cares about the way Connor smiles into the kiss with a quiet hum as they move in perfect synchronization. 

But then Connor pulls back slightly, and Kevin opens his eyes to find Connor looking up at him with a bemused grin. 

“What?” he says, trying not to sound as worried as he feels. 

“Did you brush your teeth already?” Connor says and cocks an eyebrow when Kevin promptly shuts his mouth instead of answering. “How long have you been awake?” 

“I just woke up right before you did,” Kevin says with a slight shrug that Connor doesn’t seem to buy at all. 

He considers him for a moment, his eyes traveling up and down Kevin’s face before a hand finds its way to Kevin’s hair, and then comes the revelation. “You’re wearing hair gel, for fuck’s sake,” he laughs, and Kevin rolls his eyes at his triumph. 

“Well, forgive me for being a morning person.” 

Connor smiles, the hand that’s entangled in Kevin’s hair trailing down his face, along his jaw, and comes to a stop against his chest. Kevin is propped up on his elbow, watching with precarious eyes as Connor inspects his face again, gentle eyes making his skin burn hot. 

“You know you don’t have to make yourself pretty for me, right?” he says with a voice so soft Kevin likens it to a cloud. 

His hand is still pressed against Kevin’s chest, and he is certain Connor can feel the way his heart races as he looks at him. Maybe that _had_ been the reason he’d gotten up earlier. Maybe his subconscious hadn’t felt confident enough to let Connor see him as a complete mess, but then he soon remembers Connor saw him have a full-blown panic attack a few weeks ago and figures it shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter, but it does. Kevin isn’t good at letting people in. Kevin isn’t good at showing his vulnerable side, and he isn’t good with emotions of any kind. He’s brash and forward, he forgets to consider the consequences, but he can also be calculating when need be. He could create an entire intricately planned scheme only to ruin it by putting his foot in his mouth at the very last moment. Like a villain who tells the hero every last detail of their plan, completely ignoring the fact that they’ve been in this exact situation before, and that the hero escapes every damn time. Kevin has mistaken his own mouth for a shoe plenty a time. 

So, for once, he tries to think ahead, and the words he eventually lands on are, “You can’t fault me for trying.” 

Connor doesn’t answer, but tilts his head upward, beckoning Kevin with his eyes and they share a chaste kiss before Kevin gets up and heads for the kitchen. It’s surreal and his skin is definitely still tingling from where Connor had touched him. He gets started on the coffee, idly waiting for Connor to join him, while simultaneously worrying about Arnold arriving earlier than he said he would. How would he explain this to him? What would happen if people suddenly knew about what he and Connor are doing? Perhaps it’s just his own head trying to fool him, but he’s scared that a reality check might derail this entire thing, and he really, really wants to see this out. Even if it is just between the two of them. Maybe it’s safer that way. 

He doesn’t hear Connor approaching over his own thoughts but suddenly feels an arm snake its way around his waist and Connor’s chin landing on his shoulder. “Of course you own a French press,” Connor says, planting a kiss on Kevin’s cheek. 

Kevin spins around to face him, placing his hands on Connor’s hips as Connor’s find their way around Kevin’s neck. “And yet you dare call my coffee shit.” 

“Habit,” Connor says with a shrug. “You know, I kinda wish I'd brought another set of clothes. I forgot the walk of shame applies to guys too – I mean, I am all for feminism, which is why we should just abolish the concept of a walk of shame entirely. People should take pride in getting laid, it’s not always an easy feat.” 

Kevin laughs, if slightly bewildered, and moves his hands to the small of Connor’s back. “I don’t think people are gonna care,” he says. “You look... normal.” 

Connor twists his face in confused amusement and gives Kevin the most incredulous of looks. “Cool it with the compliments, Casanova,” he says, laughing at the way Kevin exaggerates an eye-roll. “So, you’re coming to work later?” 

“Yeah,” Kevin says, leaning against the counter behind him and nudging Connor even closer. “I just have to wait for Arnold to get back.” 

Connor tilts his head to the side. “Why?” 

Kevin frowns. “I don’t know, actually,” he says, realizing Arnold hadn’t asked him to do so and there really is no reason for it, anyway. “I just feel like it might be important to the chapter...” he pauses, considering how to express his thought process, “...of his life that kinda kickstarted when the play closed. I haven’t gotten the chance to talk to him about it yet, but I assume it’s gotta be, I don’t know, bittersweet, if anything.” 

Connor nods his head slowly. “Yeah,” he says, leaning forward. “That makes sense, I guess.” 

“Which reminds me,” Kevin says, glancing at the clock on the microwave. “Arnold’ll be here in ten, you might have to take that coffee to go.” 

Connor clicks his tongue with an eye-roll. “You ashamed of me, Price?” 

Kevin lets out an amused breath as that is possibly the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard, but when Connor’s expression remains the same, he shuts his mouth, his eyes locked to Connor’s as he swallows harder than he would have preferred. His eyes drop down to Connor’s lips before flicking back up, as if asking for permission, and Connor grants it by parting his lips ever so slightly. 

It might not be a better answer than a simple ‘no’, but it’s all he has to offer right now. And to Kevin, that’s more than most people usually get from him, and in all fairness, Connor’s lips against his own feel a lot more satisfactory than any words ever could. 

He pours Connor’s coffee into one of his reusable travel mugs – after Connor points out that he should _really_ invest in one that isn’t made of plastic – and his own into his favorite cup. And yes, it is obviously Disney themed and, you guessed it, it clearly makes Connor laugh, but Kevin lets him have his fun because they’re down to five minutes now and he can’t stress enough how not ready he is for Arnold, or anyone, really, to find out about this just yet. 

As if reading his mind, Connor checks the time on his phone before saying, “Well, I better run,” and Kevin agrees. Only he also, kind of, doesn’t want him to go, either. 

“Wait, Connor,” he says as Connor turns to leave, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back, and it’s almost as if Connor had expected him to because he doesn’t seem the least bit surprised. 

It’s stupid, really. He’ll see Connor in an hour or so at work, and yet he kisses him as if he’s going off to war. His hands move all over his body because he genuinely doesn’t know where to put them, worried that he won’t get to hold him like this again, and for some reason, that scares him more than any Hell Dream he’s ever had. 

_Shit_. So, he’s afraid of losing something he doesn’t even really have to begin with. 

Connor is the one to pull away first, leaning his forehead against Kevin’s as they both catch their breaths, and he smiles before giving him one last quick kiss. 

“See you at work,” he says, and then he’s gone. 

Kevin has to close his eyes to compose himself. This is worse than he thought. Kevin feels as though a part of him left with Connor, and he can physically feel the void aching in his chest. 

He takes his cup of coffee and sinks down on the couch, focusing on scrambling his mind back into one piece, and he just about manages to before the door flings open a few minutes later. 

“FOUR STARS!” Kevin nearly has a heart attack as Arnold leans forward, hands on his knees as he catches his breath. “Four stars – I ran here.” 

Kevin watches in total confusion. “What?” 

“My first review – My first _professional_ review,” he says, holding his left hand in the air and waving a newspaper about. “Someone tweeted at me while I was getting off the plane saying there was a review for The Book of Arnold so I read it online and then I ran to six different newsstands before finding a physical copy and here. It. Is. Boom.” 

Kevin stares. “No shit.” 

“Yes shit.” Arnold nods enthusiastically. 

“Let me see,” Kevin says and catches the paper when Arnold tosses it over to him. “The Book of Arnold is an unconventional take on the life as a Mormon missionary. It combines Mormon stereotypes with biting satire in an accurate and absurd depiction of two nineteen-year-old Elders who are forcefully thrown into adulthood as they’re sent to Uganda to spread the Lord’s word. The writer, Arnold Cunningham, a former member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints himself, does a great job of conveying a story foreign to most in a way that makes it understandable even to those who aren’t familiar with the Mormon beliefs. The jokes might hit harder for us ex-members – or current members with a sense of humor – but I have no doubt the comedy translates to most audiences.” 

“Read the last part,” Arnold interrupts as he sits down next to Kevin. 

Kevin skips ahead, quickly skimming the rest of the review before reading the last line. “If you’ve ever wondered what LDS would be like on LSD,” and Arnold joins him for the last part, “here’s your answer.” 

Arnold is bouncing in his seat, excitement spilling out of his ears, and much like Arnold’s laugh, it is most definitely infectious. 

“Arnold, this is amazing,” Kevin says, rereading the entire thing, still trying to fathom an actual columnist for the New York Post sat through their lives as missionaries. An actual, real-life journalist watched Arnold’s imagination come to life and enjoyed it enough to give it four stars. That is, in every sense of the word, unbelievable to Kevin, and he couldn’t be any prouder of his best and oldest friend. 

“I know,” Arnold beams, grabbing the paper from Kevin’s hand to marvel over the words. “LDS on LSD,” he says after a moment, looking back up with blissful eyes. “Maybe that’s my thing.” 

Kevin can’t help but laugh. Thinking about it, he can’t find a better way to describe Arnold if he so tried. He is, in a positive way, psychedelic. Like a fever dream embodied, unpredictable and eccentric, but with a heart of gold and a surprisingly strong moral compass. If people were drugs, Kevin thinks in what feels like the strangest train of thought he’s ever had, Arnold would probably be something like LSD. Just like Kevin would probably be plain old nicotine – a basic bitch people either love to hate or hate to love. 

And he can’t help but wonder if Connor has ever smoked. 

“Sounds about right,” he says, giving Arnold a smile as he gets up to get ready for work, and he notices, if only a little, that there’s a slight spring in his step.  


* * *

_Against the Grain_   
_July 31st_   
_8:21pm_

So, it’s nearly been a week since their, well, date, and it hasn’t necessarily changed that much between them. They still bicker about pointless things; they still make out when no one can see. Only it isn’t as rough and demanding as before, Connor doesn’t feel the need to pin him to the floor, and Kevin doesn’t seem to rush quite as much. It’s nice, but maybe that’s all it is. 

There are things he still doesn’t understand. Things he still doesn’t know about Kevin, and honestly, things that still kind of drive him up the wall. Like the way Kevin still pesters him about a certain parking space or the way he sometimes retreats in his shell, seemingly out of nowhere. Connor isn’t sure if they’re still playing. If it’s all just a giant scheme and Connor a simple pawn. What are they even playing for anymore? Pride? Although he does feel a bit proud of bedding Kevin, he feels less proud of the turn of events that led to it. 

And so he joins Naba on the couch with a loud sigh. 

“So, are you gonna tell me what’s wrong or are you gonna make me guess?” 

Connor gives her a tired look. He really isn’t in the mood for a therapy session. “Nothing’s wrong, I'm just tired.” 

“Alright,” Naba says with a shrug, turning her attention back to her phone. 

Connor leans back on the couch, sinking into the cushion as he closes his eyes. Unfortunately, the darkness doesn’t do much to ease his thoughts, so, he opens them again, glancing over to Naba who’s still staring with focused eyes at her screen. Connor sighs again. 

“Okay, just tell me,” she says, looking back up with a bored stare. “There’s obviously something on your mind, let’s hear it.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Connor says, not entirely sure if he wants to tell her or not. 

Naba rolls her eyes, sitting cross-legged on the couch, facing Connor where he’s lying halfway down the cushion. “Is this about _Steve Blaine_?” 

Connor frowns. “Who?” he says, realizing his mistake the second Naba’s eyebrows spell out an _oh, really_. “Oh yeah, uh, that guy. Yeah, I've totally been thinking a lot about him.” 

Naba narrows her eyes with a bewildered look. “Alright, so we’re still doing-” she cuts herself off with a shake of the head. “Sure, I'll play along. I don’t like _Steve_ for you.” 

Neither does Connor – possibly because he made him up – but he’s obviously not going to let Naba know that. “Why not?” 

“Because he sounds like a bore,” she says matter-of-factly before a smile curls her lips. “You should be with someone fun. Someone who keeps you on your toes. Someone who challenges you – someone who actually does karaoke at a karaoke bar. Maybe even someone who’s dabbled in stripping.” 

Connor scoffs. “Right,” he says, crossing his arms as if that would increase his power in this argument. “And that just happened to be oddly on the nose, huh?” 

“I wasn’t thinking of a specific individual,” Naba smiles. “Were you?” 

Connor turns to look at her, twisting his face in mock amusement. “What’s your point?” 

“There is no Steve Blaine.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

Naba groans. “Oh, come on. Just admit you’re into Kevin.” 

“That is an insult to my impeccable taste in men.” Connor wrinkles his nose. “Note how I said men, not boys.” 

Naba stares. “You’re the same age.” 

“Not spiritually,” Connor argues. 

“No, spiritually, Kevin is seventy-four,” Naba says, somehow looking simultaneously bored and pleased with herself. “He’s grumpy, he has no filter, and he’d definitely keep a frisbee if a kid through it into his backyard.” 

“Well, no doy,” Connor says. “Again, what’s your point?” 

Naba raises her eyebrows expectantly, leaning back against the arm of the sofa and crosses her arms. “You’re deflecting.” 

“No, I'm not,” Connor says, sitting back up with a sharpened tongue. “And even if I were, you of all people should know how bad we’d be together.” 

“Please,” Naba says, nearly rolling her eyes. “Do enlighten me.” 

“All we do is fight,” Connor says, knowing it’s not entirely true. They do other things, too. They bicker, talk, fu- 

“Plus, you discuss the weather.” 

“Right.” Connor glares. “Because right now is the perfect time to quote Bill Finn.” 

Naba drops the expectant look on her face when Connor shows no sign of humoring her, and it quickly morphs into a more annoyed expression. “Alright, so what, you fight? Love is nothing without passion.” 

Connor scoffs. “Yeah, well there’s a difference between passion and wanting to rip someone’s teeth out with a plier because they won’t shut up about you stealing their customers.” 

Naba stares for a moment, seemingly considering his words. “He still does that?” 

Not really, is the right answer. “Occasionally,” is what he says. 

“What is passion then?” 

Connor shoots her a bored look, twisting every inch of his face that can convey any sort of disapproving feature. “You know what passion is, Naba. Don’t do that.” 

“I know what it is to me, and I also know that it’s subjective,” she says, cocking her head to one side with scrutinizing eyes. “What I'm asking is, what is passion to _you_?” 

Connor doesn’t answer, he only rolls his eyes as excessively as he can before turning his face away. He knows he’s being unnecessarily difficult, knows that Naba has figured already and that there really is no use in denying it anymore, yet he does. He’s not quite ready to let the world know, apparently. Maybe he’s still worried it’s all just a game, maybe he’s worried that if that element disappears, things won’t be the same and they’ll have nothing to talk about. There won’t be any spark, or fire, or adrenaline, only stiff conversations and awkward tension. 

“Because I've seen you with a lot of guys, Connor,” Naba says after a moment of silence. “But I've never seen you look at anyone the way you look at him.” 

Connor gives a halfhearted shrug that even he doesn’t believe in. “That’s because he’s the only person I hate.” 

“Right,” Naba says, clicking her tongue in exasperation. “Why do you have to be such a baby about this?” 

“Oh, I'm the baby,” Connor scowls. “You’re the one who can’t fucking let it go.” 

“Yeah, because I care about you, Connor!” Naba says, throwing her hands in the air in surrender as she sighs. “And I'm getting a little fed up with you not being able to pull your head out of your ass.” 

Connor opens his mouth to argue but decides to close it shortly after, pressing his lips together to form a thin line as he gives a few, slow nods. “Wow,” is all he manages, feeling worse by the second. Naba is only trying to help, even if she does it by forcing information out of him. 

“You can’t lie to me about this,” she says. “I’m not blind.” 

Connor doesn’t answer, because he doesn’t know how to, really. He watches her face go from anger to desperation to sympathy, and he regrets not telling her sooner. 

“Besides, I don’t get why you’d want to lie about it,” she says, her brows knitting together. “We tell each other everything. Or did that stop somewhere?” 

Connor closes his eyes, not because it _has_ stopped – Connor still tells her everything, just not the part about him and Kevin practically dating – but because he’s afraid he might cry. Naba means the world to him, and the last thing he wants to do is push her away, but he also feels like telling her, telling anyone, is like playing Wii without the wrist strap – liberating in the moment but could result in a shattered tv screen. 

Connor isn’t very good at analogies. 

“I just don’t want to talk about it,” he says quietly, feeling smaller than ever. 

“Alright, fine,” Naba says, conceding with a sigh before her voice softens slightly. “But you know you can, right? In case you hadn’t noticed, you’re kinda my favorite person, you know.” 

Connor turns to look at her, a small smile that is equal parts apologetic and surprised. “Really?” he says with a quiet laugh. “I thought Arnold snagged that spot along with your, you know, treasure trove.” 

“It’s 2020, Connor,” Naba says with amused eyes. “You can say the word vagina.” 

“I can,” Connor says. “But I won’t. I’m evolved but I also called in sick every day for sex ed.” 

Naba cocks an eyebrow. “You called in sick for an entire class?” 

“You’re forgetting I grew up Mormon,” Connor reminds. “We had one week where they taught us that having sex before marriage is basically worse than murder.” 

Naba watches in disbelief, a hint of laughter playing on her lips but she keeps it in. “How do you know that if you never went?” 

Connor rolls his eyes with a shrug. “Call it a gay man’s intuition, or whatever.” 

“Hmm,” Naba hums in what Connor doesn’t believe is agreement, precisely, but she doesn’t argue. “I can’t imagine they helped a lot with that, either.” 

Connor laughs. “The only time I heard a teacher mention homosexuality was when he told us it was a sin,” he says. “Oh, and that one time he mistook it for Homo Sapiens.” 

Naba furrows her brows in confusion. “Okay, elaborate.” 

“Yeah, it was my first year of high school, and I'm assuming he was gonna say homosexuals were disgusting, but somehow, he ended up saying Homo Sapiens. A girl pointed out that, technically, every person in that classroom would be one because, you know, evolution. She got two week’s detention.” 

Naba laughs. “Wow.” 

“It’s a miracle I learned anything.” 

“Well, either way,” Naba says, voice soft again and her eyes forgiving. “You’re my best friend, Con. No one’s gonna beat that.” 

Connor offers a smile in return, as it seems to be the only thing he can manage right now. He usually has no problem expressing his feelings, and especially not with Naba, but it’s different now. It’s like he’s momentarily forgotten how to do anything but think about Kevin and it’s driving him just a tiny bit insane. 

“Well, maybe Baba, but you know.” 

“Oh, I know better than to go up against Mafala, trust me,” Connor says with a laugh. “He still terrifies me, you know.” 

Naba gives him a shove but smiles nonetheless. “He likes you,” she says. “He’s just protective, but he trusts you more than any friend I've ever had. Actually, I'm pretty sure he trusts you more than he trusts me sometimes.” 

“He shouldn’t.” 

“No, he definitely should not,” Naba laughs. “Try telling him that, though.” 

Connor doesn’t answer, although he wants to thank her for not staying mad at him for acting the way he did. He knows she knows, and Naba can read him better than anyone, anyway, so there’s no doubt in his mind that she already knows nearly everything. 

“I just want you to be happy, Con,” she says after a while, and Connor reaches out to grab her hand to give his thanks. It’s a simple gesture, if not a bad one, but she returns the smile with understanding eyes and for some reason, Connor’s shoulders feel slightly less burdened. Despite really saying anything at all.  


* * *

_Slice of Life_   
_August 1st_   
_7:41pm_

They’re sat in a circle on the floor of Kevin and Arnold’s living room. Like teens in a scary movie about to use an Ouija board for the first time. He’s sitting between Arnold and Naba, opposite Connor and they’re all just exchanging glances in complete silence. 

It is exactly as weird as it sounds. 

“Are we really doing this?” Arnold is the one to break the silence, and he does so with an excited smile on his face. 

Kevin is, apparently, the only one feeling even a little bit hesitant. “You know,” he says, catching the attention of the rest of the group. “I’ve never actually smoked pot before.” 

“Aw,” Connor says, tilting his head in such taunting condescension. “He’s so innocent.” 

“So pure,” Arnold agrees. 

“So smol,” Naba adds. 

Kevin scoffs as he alternates the bored stare between them. “I’m taller than every single one of you,” he says, shrugging it off. “I just don’t see the appeal.” 

“Well, there’s obviously no pressure,” Connor says but there’s no real sympathy behind the words. “I’m just saying, you might actually have some fun, you know, for once.” 

“I have fun.” 

“No, you don’t.” 

“Yeah, I do.” 

“Okay but, bud,” Arnold says, placing a hand on Kevin’s shoulder that nearly makes him roll his eyes. “Your version of fun is staying in and watching sitcoms from the eighties.” 

“One sitcom, it’s _one_ sitcom, okay,” Kevin groans, sending Arnold a glare. “Don’t make it sound like I enjoy all of them like some middle-aged dad.” 

“You know, now that you say it,” Connor says, catching Kevin’s attention again and if the smile on his face isn’t smug beyond belief, Kevin doesn’t know what. “You do kind of have a dad bod.” 

Kevin stares, his eyebrows raised in question as he tries to decipher the look in Connor’s eyes. “Is that supposed to be a good thing?” 

“Well, now I'm curious,” he says, leaning forward with intrigued eyes. “What do _you_ think it means?” 

“Get lost, McKinley.” 

“I might,” Connor says, letting his eyes drop to the glass contraption in front of them. “Once I get a piece of this.” 

Kevin wants to laugh because Connor McKinley sounds like the least experienced person when it comes to drugs of any kind, and that’s coming from someone who has virtually no experience himself. 

“Connor,” Naba says, waving his hand that reaches forward away with her own. “You can barely hold your alcohol, I'm not sure this is the best idea for you.” 

Connor gasps, and it is dramatic in every sense of the word. Because Connor is dramatic in every sense of the word. “Nabulungi, how dare you. How dare you call me out on my low tolerance to recreational substances,” he says, hyperbole an understatement. “I will do as much as my _tiny, fragile_ body can handle while you smoke to your heart’s content because you can down an entire bottle of gin without feeling so much as a buzz.” 

“Okay,” Naba laughs, eyes wide in what looks like surprise and amusement combined. “I feel like there was some pent-up aggression left from last night mixed in there.” 

Connor doesn’t answer. Instead, he smiles and shrugs, making Naba laugh again, as Arnold reaches for the bong. 

“Let’s just do this,” he says, but Kevin soon interjects. 

“It’s still illegal, isn’t it?” 

The three of them all turn to look at him, with expectant eyes and amused expressions. 

“You have the craziest past out of everyone here,” Connor points out. “You don’t get to lecture us.” 

“Yeah, you’ve robbed a bank, Kevin,” Arnold says with a shrug, and Connor’s eyes double in size. 

_“What?”_

Kevin rolls his eyes as Arnold fesses up. “Okay, I made that one up,” he says with a laugh. “But wouldn’t it be great, if he were that crazy.” 

“I’m right here, Arnold.” 

“You have urinated in public though,” Arnold ignores him and points a finger gun at him after snapping his fingers. “And gotten arrested for it.” 

Kevin scowls. “Yeah, because you told the cops.” 

“I didn’t tell the cops,” Arnold says, feigned innocence seeping through his ears. “I told the city of New York and they happened to be within earshot.” 

“Yeah well, you’re lucky _you_ didn’t have to spend the night in a drunk tank,” Kevin glares as Connor laughs. 

“And _you’re_ lucky you’re white,” Naba chimes in. “If that would have been me, I would’ve gone to jail, no question.” 

“Seriously?” Kevin shoots her a confused look that she mostly ignores. 

“Black card,” she says instead, raising her hand in the air. “I’m using my black card.” 

“What for? We’re just talking.” 

“Gay card!” Connor says, his hand flying up as well, and Kevin begins to wonder if they’re already high. 

“Well, I have that too.” 

“Uh,” Arnold sounds, seemingly trying to think of an excuse for himself but comes up short. Literally. “Short card! Short guy card? Short king card.” 

“You don’t have a card, Arnold. You belong to the one group of people who have absolutely nothing to complain about,” Kevin says. “Straight, white men.” 

Arnold screws up his face at him, making the others laugh. “Yeah well, you’re one of those things, so.” 

Kevin frowns, taking a moment before turning back to Arnold with confused eyes. “I’m... two of those things, Arnold.” 

Arnold stares at him with blank eyes. “You’re gay.” 

Kevin nearly laughs. “I- Yes, but I'm a white man.” 

“Yeah, so one of the things.” 

“Straight, white men is three things, Arnold.” 

“Yes,” Arnold says with exaggerated emphasis. “And you’re one of them.” 

Kevin thinks he might’ve gone insane, or at the very least as if he’s about to. “What? So are you saying I'm not white or not a man, because I honestly don’t know which is more offensive.” 

“I do,” Naba adds. 

“What?” Arnold says, his brows knitted together in total bewilderment. 

“I honestly think he doesn’t get it,” Naba laughs. 

Arnold turns to look at her, his expression still deeply focused on trying to either understand what they’re saying or explaining himself. “He’s gay.” 

“Honey, I know, you’re doing great,” she says, grabbing his hand from across the circle. “But you’re completely missing the point.” 

Arnold frowns, and it makes the rest of them laugh because he sounds so genuinely perplexed when he says, “I don’t get it.” 

After a while, they all stop trying as Connor, Naba, and Arnold grow impatient and decide it’s time to light the bong. Kevin doesn’t argue, he only watches the hassle of preparing it that makes the whole thing feel redundant to him. If it takes any work at all, how is it better than just popping a few pills? Not that Kevin knows how those work either. For someone who’s been through a lot, including a job at a strip club, he’s had surprisingly few run-ins with drugs of any kind. 

He watches as they pass the device that Connor and Naba had brought around, trying to spot the switch from unmarijuanalized brains to slightly baked, dazed-and-confused kind of expressions, but doesn’t notice any conspicuous change at all. 

“I just wanna say, to any minors listening,” Arnold says suddenly, interrupting Kevin’s observing. “I don’t condone drugs.” 

Kevin blinks, looking around to see if Naba or Connor is as befuddled by his words as Kevin is. They’re not, both nodding their heads absentmindedly and Kevin wonders if this is what being high is like. Just being slightly more chill than usual. 

“You’re the youngest person here,” he says when no one else speaks up. “And you’re twenty-seven.” 

Arnold waves a dismissive hand at him. “Figure of speech.” 

Kevin frowns. “As a writer, you must know that’s not true.” 

Arnold looks at him with humored eyes before turning to Connor with a smile. “He’s so mad.” 

“That’s what I've been saying!” Connor throws his hands up, as though it would help amplify his words. 

“What?” Kevin says, his eyes moving from one to the other as they stare at him with widened eyes. “You guys talk about me?” 

“No...” comes the easiest spotted lie Kevin has ever heard. 

“Oh, come on, that’s not fair,” he scowls. “You can’t sit around and talk about me when I'm not there to defend myself.” 

“We don’t say bad things,” Arnold says with a smile, patting Kevin’s shoulder the way a child pets a dog’s head. 

“You obviously say that I'm mad all the time,” he huffs, and watches as the three of them exchange glances as though him complaining about it proves their point. “Oh, please. How am I not supposed to get mad at that? It hardly makes it true.” 

Connor looks at him with big, stupidly happy eyes that nearly take the shape of hearts as he stares. 

“So mad,” Arnold whispers, eliciting laughs from the other two as Kevin only glares. 

“You guys are the worst.” 

“Sounds like you might need to take,” Connor slowly pushes the bong along the floor toward Kevin, “an edge off.” 

Kevin narrows his eyes as Connor feigns innocence that only makes him look coy, and it’s a look he’s finding annoyingly difficult to ignore at the moment. So, he huffs out a “Fine,” as he makes a show of rolling his eyes. 

It isn’t necessarily bad, but he doesn’t particularly enjoy it either. It just feels like inhaling weird-tasting smoke that makes him cough while the others give him pitying looks and stifled laughter. It doesn’t appeal to him at all, much like most drugs and even alcohol never really has. But at least alcohol can be mixed with other things to hide that godawful sting of liquor against his taste buds. This just feels like smoking with flair. 

So instead, he settles for watching, and that in itself is proving to be quite entertaining. He doesn’t know whose idea it had been, only that it was to celebrate Arnold’s play being reviewed by an actual journalist, in an actual newspaper, and obviously, he wanted to be there for it. The fact that Arnold is finally getting some recognition for his work is enough to make Kevin feel like a proud mom, but he tries his very best to act like a best friend instead. Even when Arnold inhales too much at once and descends into a coughing fit, Kevin only brings him a glass of water and gives him a meaningful look. After he’s made sure Arnold isn’t actually dying, that is. 

Naba and Connor seem more practiced with this kind of stuff, and Kevin chalks it up to being a part of their college experience, which he and Arnold wouldn’t know a lot about since neither of them ever went. Still, it’s quite interesting watching the two, seeing as they seem to respond very differently to the toxins. Connor is lying down on his back, propping himself up with his elbows as he stares blindly at the ceiling, while Naba is having a normal conversation with Arnold that Kevin wouldn’t think much of had he not known. She sounds no different than she does in any other situation, and Kevin realizes that she hadn’t really when they’ve gone out drinking, either. Whatever reason, it’s safe to say her tolerance is higher than the other three combined. 

“If my parents could see us now,” Kevin says after a while, glancing down at the glass thingamabob in front of him. “God only knows they'd beat me to death with their own hands.” 

“God is dead,” Connor tells the ceiling before tilting his head back to meet Kevin’s eyes with a relaxed, slightly glassy look. “Long live Lucifer.” 

Kevin nearly laughs. “What are you, a Satanist now?” 

“When did that happen?” Arnold says, turning his attention away from Naba and toward Connor. 

“You know, I didn’t even think about that but now that you say it, yeah. Maybe, yeah,” Connor says, sounding more like he’s thinking out loud and reacting to the words as they roll off his tongue. “What is it they do again? Hang out in black clothes, make pentagrams, and chant incoherent things? I can do that. I can do that right now,” he says, sitting back up with haste as he closes his eyes, crosses his legs, and puts his thumbs and index fingers together in a sign that Kevin used to relate to _a-ok_ or meditation, but now has gotten a much worse, much louder and dumber and orange-tinted-wrinkly-skin kind of connotation. Kevin doesn’t know what to do other than smile when Connor begins to quietly chant, “ _Elaka nahmen nahmen, ah tum ah tum, elaka nahmen_ ,” over and over and over until Naba interrupts. 

“That’s Wicked, Connor,” she says and Connor flashes her a proud grin. 

“Thank you.” 

“No-” Naba laughs, an inch away from facepalming when she brings her hand back down to place on Connor’s knee. “The musical, you absolute idiot.” 

Connor doesn’t seem to get it as he turns away with a focused frown and a hum. Kevin stares in confusion. “What the hell is happening right now,” he says rather than asks because honestly, he’s mostly just talking to himself. 

“Connor is high,” Naba says with a smile. “That’s what’s happening.” 

“I am not high,” Connor shakes his head with conviction. “I am the opposite of high. I’m... low.” 

Kevin breathes out a laugh as Arnold wheezes at the comment, while Naba only smiles more sympathetically as she says, ”I think you mean sober, babe.” 

Connor stares at her for a moment, the dopey look on his face soon forming a dopey smile and it isn’t at all adorable in every possible way, nuh-uh. 

“Sober?” he says, a poor attempt at holding back his own laughter. “I don’t even kn-” 

“Finish that joke and you’re dead,” Naba warns with a pointed finger and a grin. 

Kevin watches the staredown in silence, as does Arnold, and his eyes travel between the two, wordlessly testing each other’s limits with widened eyes and raised brows before Connor slowly opens his mouth to speak, Naba’s finger still pointed inches from his face. 

“ _Knowher_ ,” he blurts quickly as he scrambles to his feet. 

“I swear to God, Connor,” Naba laughs, flying up from her seat as well and the two disappear down the hallway as Kevin only stares after them. 

“Why does it feel like I just walked into someone else’s acid trip?” he says, turning to Arnold who is still looking at the doorway with a beaming smile. 

“That,” he says, pointing to the bong sitting on the floor. 

“You know, I actually don’t feel an-” 

“Kevin, Kevin, I need to tell you something,” Arnold cuts him off, leaning forward with determined eyes as his expression turns sober – well, that’s a poor choice of word, Kevin quickly realizes – as his expression turns dazedly serious. “Did you know, that the _staptute_ of liberty, is actually a man?” 

Kevin blinks at him, unable to think of any answer at all because what the fuck does that even mean. 

Arnold watches him carefully, before attempting to lower his voice which in reality, only makes it louder. “...In drag?” 

“Jesus, not you too, Arn,” Kevin laughs despite himself. “Why did I agree to this? Why do I ever agree to anything?” 

Time flies by rather quickly after that. Connor and Naba come back and they all just sit and talk for a while, Arnold and Connor not making much sense but at least Naba seems present enough to carry Kevin’s conversations. He’s quite thankful for that and offers her an appreciative smile that she kindly returns. 

He and Naba haven’t really gotten the chance to get to know each other very well, and Kevin admits that most things he does know about her, he’s learned through Arnold. So he’s glad they’re finally getting to talk without the two crutches currently discussing two completely different things while believing it is one and the same. It’s pretty hilarious though, that when Connor had brought up the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz, Arnold had immediately thought they were talking about C-3PO from his favorite franchise, and neither Kevin nor Naba had had the heart to tell them. 

After a while, Arnold and Naba decide to very indiscreetly sneak off to Arnold’s bedroom, which doesn’t even seem to register in Connor’s brain but Kevin makes sure to give them a pointed, and rather bored glare. They’re still sitting on the floor, for some inane reason, and Kevin leans his back against the couch as he turns his attention back to Connor. Whose smile is big and wide and stupidly blatant as he lifts a finger to point at Kevin, brings it back down, and then points again, all without saying a single word, and Kevin lets out an amused breath as he cocks an eyebrow. 

“Is there something you want to say, Connor?” 

“You,” Connor says, drawing circles in the air in Kevin’s direction with his index finger. “Have brown eyes.” 

“No, really?” Kevin feigns surprise. “I distinctly remember my eyes being pink.” 

“No, nuh-uh.” Connor shakes his head with narrowed eyes. “No way.” 

Kevin smiles. “Yes way.” 

“No,” Connor says, crawling across the floor until he reaches Kevin, and he straddles his lap without hesitation as he looks deeply into Kevin’s eyes with focused determination. Kevin feels his pulse rushing as Connor leans closer before he leans back again with a smile. “They are _abso-nitely_ brown.” 

“You are so stupid,” Kevin says, trying not to laugh. 

Connor doesn’t move from his spot, he only tilts his head to the side and lets his eyes fall to Kevin’s lips where they linger before they flick back up with such allure, as if he knew Kevin can’t resist whenever he looks at him like _that_. He parts his lips in silent consent, watching as Connor slowly leans closer and closer until he can feel Connor’s breath against his skin and it sends shivers all through his body. 

Connor closes the distance with soft urgency, their lips not so much crashing together, but rather gently moving in sync, lingering long enough to savor each second before they both have to come up for air. And then they’re kissing again, and Connor deepens it by sliding his tongue in Kevin’s mouth and it makes him let out an embarrassingly loud moan as Connor’s hands find their way to Kevin’s hair and tugs gently, which really doesn’t do much to help keep the volume down, but he doesn’t care because Connor has started grinding against him and it’s just too much to take. 

But then he catches himself. 

“No, Connor, you’re-” he says, breaking away from the kiss and gently pushes Connor off him. “I don’t know what you are, but you’re not sober.” 

Connor wobbles slightly and lies sideways on the floor, propping his body up with his elbow as he bends a knee and poses. “I can be whatever you want me to be,” he says, and it’s stupidly tempting, in a way that should make Kevin feel embarrassed about wanting him at all. 

“Yeah, well,” Kevin says, trying to get his breathing back to normal as Connor watches him with bewitching eyes. “I want you to be sober.” 

“Sober?” Connor says then, his expression twisting in poorly concealed amusement. “I don’t even kn-” 

“You already made that joke,” Kevin cuts him off with a groan but smiles regardless when he meets Connor’s eyes again. “Like four times.” 

Connor only shrugs, sitting back up and tilting his head as he had minutes ago, and Kevin gives him an expectant look that he barely seems to notice. He’d thought that maybe Connor would be upset about Kevin pushing him away. That he’d take it as a rejection based on anything other than the fact that Connor might not be conscious enough to tell him no, and that’s not at all what he wants him to think. He wants to – obviously, he wants to, but he wants Connor to be there in the moment with him and not forget himself or look at him with that glassy stare. It would just feel wrong, on so many levels. 

And then there’s the fact that Arnold and Naba are literally in the next room, and even though they’re probably busy themselves, it’s not a risk he’s ready to take. And thankfully, Connor doesn’t seem to mind very much at all. 

“You’re pretty,” he says after a while, and Kevin has to do a doubletake to make sure he’d heard right. 

“Thank you,” he says, slightly narrowing his eyes as it feels suspiciously nice coming from Connor. 

But Connor only smiles, his eyes dreamy as they stare at him. “I bet you were the prettiest boy in school.” 

Kevin laughs. “Well, I was voted homecoming king, so.” 

Connor smiles, a surprised look flashing across his face as he considers Kevin. “Who was your queen?” he asks, scooting backward a little so he can lean his back against the wall. 

“Quinn Peterson,” Kevin says, a bit surprised he even remembers, but then, it was barely ten years ago and he’s embarrassed to say, but he probably _did_ peak in high school. Sad as it sounds. “She was a cheerleader.” 

Connor hums, nodding his head as he turns to look away. “The cheerleader and the quarterback.” 

Kevin snorts. “You think I used to play football?” 

“Well, yeah,” Connor says, turning his eyes back to Kevin with a shrug. “Only jocks get voted prom king. Or so I've been told by every single teen movie ever made.” 

“Yeah well, I didn’t play football.” 

Connor shoots him a challenging look. “What did you do then?” 

Kevin shrugs. “I did track.” 

“Track?” Connor wrinkles his nose. “So you like, ran? That’s not cool.” 

“It actually takes a lot of work,” Kevin says while Connor’s eyes remain unconvinced. “You know, I bet I’m still in better condition than you are.” 

Connor scoffs, but it’s playful enough to make Kevin smile. “I’m a dancer, Kevin,” he says, as though that is proof enough. “I’m in perfect shape.” 

Kevin rolls his eyes with a small laugh, watching Connor smile at him as though he’s dead serious. He doesn’t say anything but meets Connor’s eyes as they just sit there in silence, staring at each other while their best friends have sex in a room down the hall. He can’t help but wonder what Connor had been like in high school, and if they’d met then, if things would have turned out different. Maybe Kevin wouldn’t have been able to bottle his emotions as much as he did. Maybe he and Connor would have come to terms with their sexuality together. Or maybe Kevin would have hated him, as he did himself for even having those thoughts at that age. 

Maybe they weren’t supposed to meet back then, because Kevin doesn’t think he’d be able to appreciate Connor the way he does now, had he met him at a time when he hadn’t yet grown to accept himself for who he was. 

When Connor tilts his head back to watch the ceiling again, Kevin decides to ask him. “So, who were you in high school?” 

Connor lets out a quiet laugh. “I was the obviously closeted Mormon who was not only a drama kid, but a band geek, too,” he says, still keeping his eyes turned upward. “I was _so_ popular.” 

Kevin considers him. Considers how Connor sounds both nostalgic and dismal all at once, and wonders how different his time in high school had been from Kevin’s. “Really?” 

“Obviously not, Kevin,” Connor snorts, turning his head back to look at Kevin. “Don’t be crass.” 

Kevin wasn’t trying to, and he doesn’t mean to be when he says, “I woulda liked you,” either. 

“Yeah well, I probably wouldn’t have liked you,” Connor says with a smile Kevin can’t quite read. “I didn’t trust people who got voted prom king.” 

“Homecoming,” Kevin corrects him. 

“Same fucking difference,” Connor says, rolling his eyes with overacted exaggeration. “I bet it was rigged.” 

Kevin feigns hurt. “Ouch.” 

Connor breathes out a sigh but offers a somewhat apologetic look as he says, “You know what I mean.” 

Kevin does, but he says nothing regardless. Instead, he leans his head back against the couch and does what Connor has been doing a lot of this evening. He watches the ceiling in silence, and when he notices Connor getting to his feet in his peripheral, his heart drops for a brief moment, scared he’s going to leave him there, but Connor only takes a few steps and plops down beside him on the floor. And then they sit like that for a while. Like two stoned idiots staring blankly at the white, chipped paint, only Kevin isn’t high and Connor doesn’t seem to be that affected anymore, either. 

He tilts his head to the side, his eyes searching the side of Connor’s face that’s closest to him and he sees that Connor notices, but he doesn’t mention it. 

“You know,” Kevin says, watching Connor’s face as he reacts to his voice. “You don’t look like you’re having that much fun.” 

“I don’t do it to have fun,” Connor says through an amused breath as he turns to look at Kevin. “I do it to relax. Unwind.” 

Kevin cocks an eyebrow. “Surely, there are better ways – _healthier_ ways to unwind than filling your lungs with smoke.” 

“You’re not supposed to swallow the smoke, jackass,” Connor laughs. “No wonder you’re so prickly.” 

“I’m not prickly,” Kevin protests, which only makes Connor’s face spell out an _is that so_. 

“Well,” he says, lifting his hand to lazily gesture to Kevin’s face. “You don’t look like you’re having too much fun, either.” 

Kevin doesn’t argue. He might not be enjoying the evening as much as everyone else seems to be, but he’s not exactly bored. That just doesn’t happen when Connor is around anymore. 

“How often do you do this then?” he asks after a while and Connor breathes out a sigh in response. 

“You know, Kevin, it’s cute of you to ask but since you’re neither my mom nor a cop,” he says, flashing a brief smile. “I don’t have to tell you that.” 

Kevin screws up his face, but can’t hide the smile curling his lips anyway, as he laughs out, “You’re such a liberal sometimes,” that makes Connor pull away from the couch as he sits back up and looks down at him with bemused eyes. 

“If this is you coming out as a Republican, I will literally throw you out the window with my bare hands.” 

Kevin snorts. “I don’t think people really have to _come out_ as Republicans.” 

“To me they do,” Connor says. “If people are gonna make me come out as something I couldn’t change if I wanted to, the least they can do is go through the same thing and come out as something they could _very much_ change if they wanted to.” 

“And how many people have actually done that?” 

Connor considers him for a moment, then turns his head away as if in thought, and Kevin waits for the verdict. “You know, I was screwing this guy once – like I was literally inside him, and out of nowhere, he tells me he admired Richard Nixon,” he says, his brows furrowed in disbelief as he meets Kevin’s eyes again. “I mean, who does that?” 

Kevin bites back a laugh as he shakes his head slightly. “He sounds like a bitch.” 

“You’re telling me,” Connor says, a sigh escaping his lips shortly after. “But I guess, at least I got to fuck him like his party has been fucking the country for years. So, that’s nice.” 

“Well, I'm not a Republican, so,” Kevin says, feeling weird even having to audibly state that as if he’s pleading not guilty in front of a jury of Democrats. “Don’t worry.” 

Connor turns toward him, leaning against the couch with his arm propped up on the cushion as a small frown plays on his eyebrows. “What does that mean though,” he says, and Kevin’s face forms a question mark. “When you say ‘I’m such a liberal’ – what does that mean?” 

“Oh, come on,” Kevin says with a small laugh, but Connor doesn’t seem humored. “You know what I mean.” 

“I have an idea, but I still want to hear it from you.” 

“I’m not saying it’s bad, you know,” Kevin tries to no avail, realizing then that Connor won’t let this go, and he’s very aware Connor can be persistent when need be. “I’m just, look – I mean, you’re an openly gay man in New York who majored in musical theatre, lives in Brooklyn, is a vegan, and smokes pot.” 

Connor only stares with expectant eyes. “So?” 

“I’m just saying, you know,” Kevin says, a small shrug as he tries to ease the suddenly weird tension. “You’re a bit of a walking stereotype.” 

“Wow,” Connor says, turning his face away with a scoff, and Kevin realizes that he has once again run his mouth when he’d been better off taping it shut. And he’s not even then one under the influence of drugs. 

Connor chews his lip for a moment before he shoots up and heads for the door, and Kevin nearly punches himself for being that fucking idiotic. He gets up and runs after him when he comes back to his senses, and Connor has already made it outside but Kevin used to do track and has no problem catching up to him. 

He makes a mental note _not_ to rub that fact in Connor’s face. 

“Connor, wait,” he says when he reaches him, grabbing Connor’s wrist to stop him from moving. 

“I’m walking home,” Connor says, yanking his hand out of Kevin’s grip. 

“Don’t be stupid, we did that once, remember? It took hours.” 

Connor scoffs. “Yeah, I remember,” he says, shaking his head slightly with a humorless smile playing on his lips. “That was the night you should’ve kissed me. But didn’t.” 

Kevin opens his mouth to answer but finds he doesn’t know what to say. He hadn’t expected those to be the words to fall off Connor’s lips, and all he can do is search his face for clues. 

“Why didn’t you?” Connor says when he gets no response, his brows knitting together slightly as he watches Kevin struggle to speak. “Why don’t you?” 

“You don’t want me to kiss you right now,” Kevin says despite himself, but he knows it’s true. Connor is upset, and he’s not looking for comfort in Kevin’s lips, that’s for sure. “You’re obviously mad at me.” 

“Those sound like your words, not mine,” Connor pushes, raising his eyebrows in a counterattack Kevin hadn’t anticipated, but it gets on his nerves regardless. 

He mirrors Connor’s expression for a brief moment, and when he gets no reaction, he breathes out, “Alright, fine,” as he steps closer and leans in to kiss him, but as he’d guessed, Connor pushes him away and it’s tactless, he knows, but it makes him laugh for the shortest of seconds. “See, I fucking called it,” he says, suddenly armed and dangerous when he doesn’t want to be, but at the very least, it gets a reaction out of Connor. 

“You don’t have any right to be mad at me,” he says, raising his voice to match Kevin’s and he realizes they’re practically shouting in the middle of the street past midnight but he doesn’t care. “’Cause I'm what, just a cliché with legs to you, right?” 

“No, I- Fucking hell, Connor, I said I didn’t mean it as an insult,” he says, trying to form coherent sentences out of very incoherent thoughts, and it’s just as frustrating as it sounds. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I shouldn’t have opened my fat mouth because whenever I do, I just fuck things up – I thought I already _had_ fucked this up.” 

Connor stares, chest heaving as he’s clearly trying to blow off some steam. “This?” he says, almost sarcastically but Kevin hopes it’s just his temper. 

“Yes, this,” he says, gesturing dumbly to the space between them as if that clarifies things. 

“Yeah, well, you should’ve thought of that before you called me a walking stereotype.” 

“Alright, listen – No, look at me,” he says, once again grabbing Connor’s wrist, but with less force this time, and holds him in front of him so he can say it to his face. “I’m sorry, okay? What else do you want, you want me to get down on my knees, because I will.” 

Connor rolls his eyes. “Jesus Christ, Kevin, don’t be-” 

“No, let me do this,” he cuts him off, letting go of his wrists and dumbly falling to his knees. If not to be sincere, then at least to make a point, and Connor seems amused enough by the gesture to scoff. “Connor McKinley, I am sorry for calling you a stereotype. I’m sorry for insulting you, and for continuously making things awkward between us, and I'm sorry for not kissing you that night. I wanted to, I just didn’t know how,” he says, keeping his eyes locked with Connor’s throughout and hoping it’s enough to make up for some things, anyway. “I’m not very good at this kinda stuff, in case you hadn’t noticed.” 

Connor laughs through his nose. “If you mean you’re emotionally inarticulate, then yes, I have noticed,” he says, and Kevin suddenly dares to flash a small, apologetic smile that Connor almost, just almost, returns, before he grabs Kevin’s arm and hoists him up. “Get up, idiot.” 

Kevin does, biting his lip as he’s once again level with Connor’s eyes. “Look, could we just, forget about this tonight?” he says, wanting to reach out and take Connor’s hand in his, but refrains as he’s not sure that’s the right move right now. “You’re high and it’s late.” 

“I’m not-” Connor cuts himself off with an airy laugh, then looks back at Kevin and nods once. “Yeah, alright,” he says. “I should probably get going, anyway.” 

“You could still stay the night,” falls off Kevin’s tongue before he can stop the words, and he turns away when Connor cocks an eyebrow, scratching the back of his neck to seem casual, which is completely unnecessary considering it’s so obvious he wants Connor to stay, as if he wasn’t just on his knees, practically begging for forgiveness. “Naba probably will and I don’t think it would be that weird if you were to, say, sleep on the couch.” 

Connor doesn’t say anything but narrows his eyes slightly as Kevin shrugs. 

“Or, you know, sneak out to the couch before they wake up.” 

Connor tilts his head to the side, the corner of his lips twitching upward, if only a little. “What are you saying?” 

Kevin wants to roll his eyes but knows he deserves to be lightly tantalized right now, so he resists the urge. “I’m saying I'm sorry for being a dick, now can we kiss and make up till we both pass out?” he says, his eyes careful as he doesn’t want to come off abrasive, and in a short rush of confidence, he reaches out to loosely tangle his fingers with Connor’s. “Please?” 

Connor doesn’t fight the gesture, but his eyes are still a bit precarious, even though Kevin can see a hint of playfulness in the blue. “If you give me a piggyback back up.” 

Kevin laughs through his nose, a bemused frown forming on his forehead. “You’re kidding.” 

Connor shakes his head. “It’s either that or I walk home.” 

“So you can walk to Brooklyn but you can’t make it up the stairs?” 

Connor only shrugs, as Kevin gives a sigh. But he decides not to argue because if it’s the only way to make Connor stay, he’ll do it. He wouldn’t be able to sleep, knowing Connor left when things were still weird and tense between them. This way, he has at least a few more hours to make up for things, and he hopes he can. He’ll try, either way, to the best of his abilities. 

“Don’t say I never do anything nice for you,” he says, a smile playing on his lips as he turns his back to Connor, who soon jumps on and wraps his arms around Kevin’s neck, leaning in to plant a quick kiss right below his ear that Kevin feels all through his body. 

And he carries him to the third floor, which shouldn’t be possible but somehow is, and he doesn’t put him back down until they make it to his room. Connor falls onto the bed with a loud sigh, lazily kicking his shoes off before reaching out a hand and gesturing for Kevin to do the same. He does, and for a while, they just lie there, side by side, staring at the ceiling before Connor rolls over on his side and nudges Kevin’s face toward him. 

“I’m more than a stereotype,” he says, and Kevin immediately winces but Connor lets out a quiet laugh as he leans down, stopping only inches from Kevin’s lips, and then he smiles. “I also really like Madonna.” 

Kevin laughs into the kiss before apologizing again, and Connor proceeds to shut him up with his tongue. He lets him, and he isn’t sure how long they lie like that but it’s nice and warm and not at all how Kevin saw the night ending, no, this is way, way better because for once, they didn’t resolve a fight with sex. They talked it out – mostly, anyway – and it feels surprisingly good, knowing that despite the mistakes he’s making, Connor is still here, and that means something. It just has to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DON'T DO DRUGS - but like, if you're gonna do drugs, I'd rather suggest pot than anything hardcore, like don't start off with cocaine, that's never the best idea 
> 
> Sorry it's taken me longer to update. My fidget spinner broke so I had nothing to busy my hands with while thinking up dialogue, and that turned out to be a surprisingly difficult crutch, but now it works again for some reason, so we're all good. I've also been a bit preoccupied stressing about what to study next semester, as basically everyone here receives whether they've been accepted or not on the same day, and I applied to two courses in creative writing and I've literally driven myself insane about not getting accepted but guess what - I did. That might be the single most amazing achievement in my life, but then I'll also have to share my writing with others AND receive criticism so yeah, I'm gonna cry but eh
> 
> I also just wanna point out that as one of my application pieces, I sent in a McPriceley fic (????? why), and sure I changed the last names but like, anyone who's familiar with the show would know. This is gonna sound like a shameless plug (and it is, don't get me wrong), the one I applied with was a thing I wrote for the BOM 10 day challenge (thank you to likealightsw1tch/TurnIt0ff and awesome-job-kevin/xoxoxo for the brilliant idea, legends both of you) and if anyone hasn't read it, which, if you're reading this you've probably seen it at least, but hey, it's my fic so I get to give myself a shoutout - [ anyway here's the link](https://sprinkleofharries.tumblr.com/post/615835246592753664/bom-10-day-challenge-day-9) (And a quick thank you to ghostfinch on tumblr for proofreading it for me, bless you)
> 
> Sorry this is getting long, I just wanted to say thank you for sticking with me through this, there isn't that much left which I think is good since I feel like I'm losing their voices. I also didn't love this chapter, but listen, when I thought up Connor doing the chant from No Good Deed and Naba saying 'That's Wicked' and Connor taking it as a compliment, like, I HAD to put that in, and in my head that immediately spelled _pot_. Make of that what you will. 
> 
> I had to google how to use a bong.
> 
> Thanks for reading, thanks for commenting, and kudos to you if you can spot the poorly executed references this chapter is littered with. Also, I realized when I read it through again that this chap got strangely political, but hey,  
> [](https://ibb.co/DVjFThR)  
>   
> I had to rewatch a short part of 13 reasons why to get a screenshot for this so you'd better laugh thanks bye
> 
> Stay safe and listen to everything William Finn has written, you won't regret it, trust me


	11. The Beach of Living

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Slice of Life_ \- Kevin's POV
> 
> _Against the Grain_ \- Connor's POV

#### 

The Beach of Living

_Against the Grain_   
_August 6th_   
_7:49pm_

Connor doesn’t like flying. There’s just something inherently terrifying with being trapped in a metal box thirty thousand feet up in the air and the only thing to save them in case of a crash, a life vest and a whistle. But he’s found that Kevin makes for a good distraction, what with the endless complaining about not getting to visit the best theme park in the world while being only hours away. 

“It’s such a waste,” he says, watching the darkening sky through the window. “It’s literally just three hours by car, I don’t see what the problem is.” 

“The problem is, no one but you wants to go to Disneyland,” Connor says and smiles when Kevin turns back to give him a bored look. 

“Disney World,” he corrects and Connor rolls his eyes. 

“Same difference.” 

“Stop saying that. It makes no sense.” 

“If you stop complaining about Disney,” Connor says, and Kevin begrudgingly concedes with a sigh. “We’re still gonna have a good time, alright. Stop sulking.” 

“I’m not sulking,” Kevin protests, proving Connor’s point. “I’m just not entirely convinced it’s possible to have a good time in Miami.” 

Connor shoots him a bored stare that Kevin challenges with one of his own. “Are you gonna do this the whole time? Because if you are, I’ll leave you at the hotel and invite a stranger to the day I have planned.” 

Kevin looks at him with intrigued eyes, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side as a small, taunting smile plays on his lips. “You have a day planned?” 

Connor shrugs. “Yeah.” 

“For us?” 

“That depends,” Connor says, looking away as coolly as he can. “I’m not bringing you along if you’re gonna act like a five-year-old.” 

Kevin doesn’t respond but Connor can still feel his eyes on him. He won’t give him the satisfaction, so he picks up the in-flight magazine sitting in the pocket on the seat in front of him and starts flipping through the pages. 

He _does_ have a day planned, but it really isn’t anything special. It’s mostly just a beach day, because the beaches in New York are nothing compared to those in Miami, and if there’s one thing he misses about his mission in Orlando, it’s the day trips he used to take there. 

And obviously, it’s a good excuse to see Kevin shirtless. So, there’s that. 

“What are we doing then?” Kevin asks after a while, grabbing the magazine from Connor’s hands when he doesn’t get any attention. “What do you have _planned_?” 

“You’ll see,” Connor says with a smile that Kevin doesn’t return. 

“Just tell me.” 

“No,” Connor persists, having maybe just a tad too much fun. “That’ll ruin the surprise.” 

“I don’t like surprises,” Kevin says, sinking back in his chair. “This entire trip is too spontaneous for my liking anyway, adding to that stress is just cruel, McKinley.” 

Connor rolls his eyes but smiles nonetheless. “You’ll be fine,” he says. “It’s Florida, the only things you have to look out for are alligators and old racist people.” 

Kevin snorts. “I see you didn’t put a lot of effort into recognizing those are stereotypes,” he says with playful eyes, and Connor shoots him a warning in the form of a glare. 

“Takes one to know one, doesn’t it.” 

Kevin breathes out something between a sigh and a groan. “I already apologized for that,” he says. “You can’t keep milking it forever.” 

Connor smiles. “Worth a try.” 

They arrive at Miami International Airport about two hours later and find a cab driver waiting by the exit with a sign that reads _Mr. Cunningham_. Arnold practically screams when he sees it. 

“I feel so important,” he says while they’re being led to a black SUV with tinted windows that makes Connor feel equal parts excited and uneasy. 

“You _are_ important,” Naba says, nudging him with her elbow. “First it’s a private cab, next thing you know, there’ll be a limo waiting for you wherever you go.” 

Arnold laughs. “Remember to pinch me when that happens,” he says. “Because I’m pretty sure it’ll be a dream.” 

About thirty minutes later, they reach the hotel. Arnold tries to pay for the ride when the driver helps them lift their luggage out of the trunk, but he only tells them it’s already been paid, and Arnold turns back to the group with a shrug. It all feels very strange, Connor will admit. Almost the entire trip has been paid for by the man Arnold is meeting with tomorrow, the flight, the hotel, the airport shuttle, you name it. It just feels, well, off, but Connor tries to keep a positive attitude and considers that, perhaps, people aren’t as bad as he sometimes paints them out to be. 

He quickly adapts to the sentiment when they enter the lobby, because holy shit, if this isn’t the fanciest place Connor has ever seen. The walls leading up to the front desk look like they’re made of marble, and there are plush chairs and sofas spread out across the room. The windows stretch from floor to ceiling, and despite the darkness, Connor can see calm waves on the other side. 

Arnold and Naba go to check them in while Connor and Kevin wait by the luggage. 

“This is so fancy,” Connor says as he sinks into one of the couches. “Like trust fund, my-ancestors-used-to-own-slaves kind of fancy. I feel like a Vanderbilt.” 

“You don’t look like one.” 

Connor returns Kevin’s smirk with a pointed glare as he sits up straight. He can at least try to act as though he fits in, even though most people passing them by are wearing suits or the kind of clothing that you just kind of know costs more than a month’s rent. Connor is wearing shorts. More exactly, shorts he got from a thrift store fifteen minutes from his apartment. 

“Seventh floor,” Arnold smiles when they return, grabbing his suitcase before starting toward the elevators. 

The room isn’t huge, but it’s bigger than any hotel room he’s ever stayed in before. The windows offer a view of Biscayne Bay and the city skyline, and there’s a small balcony that would have given them a perfect spot for watching the sunset, had it not been too late in the evening. 

“There’s only one bed,” Kevin says almost instantly, seemingly not at all as impressed by the view as Connor is. 

“Your room is through that door,” Naba says, pointing her thumb in the other direction as she flops down onto the bed Connor assumes is her and Arnold’s. “We got connecting rooms for some reason.” 

“I asked for connecting rooms,” Arnold says before anyone can make a move for the door, and Kevin scoffs out a question with narrowed eyes. “I told Hawthorne I was taking care of my mentally challenged cousin and that I had to bring him and his boyfriend along.” 

Kevin stares. “Your _what_?” 

As does Connor. “Him and his _what_?” 

Naba laughs while Arnold explains. “I don’t think he would’ve offered to pay for either of you if I said you were just friends tagging along.” 

“So you told him I was _mentally challenged_? What the fuck is that supposed to mean.” 

“Besides, I was in the play, remember,” Connor points out, to which Kevin aims the death glare in his direction instead of Arnold’s. “If anyone’s tagging along it’s Kevin.” 

“Okay, so we’re just gonna ignore the fact that I didn’t even _want_ to go in the first place?” 

“It is almost midnight, for god’s sake,” Naba says with a loud sigh. “You can squabble about it at breakfast.” 

“But-” 

Kevin can barely say a word before Naba is on her feet again. “You two, in there,” she says, pushing him and Connor toward the door and through it once Kevin gets it open. She grabs their suitcases and wheels them inside before turning around, speaking a, “See you tomorrow,” before she closes the door behind her. 

Kevin mutters something under his breath as Connor looks around. The room is nearly identical to Arnold and Naba’s, only there’s no balcony and two double beds instead of a king-sized one. He claims the one closest to the windows as his own, sinking back into the mattress as Kevin makes for the bathroom. 

So, they’re sharing a room. That’s bound to be interesting. But then they’re also sharing a wall with Arnold and Naba, and Connor has no idea how thick the walls are. Not that he cares that much anymore. He knows Naba knows more than he’s told her, and he’s fairly certain that means Arnold knows too. What he’s less sure about, is what Kevin knows. Or rather what he feels, and whatever those feelings mean. He seems to want it as much as Connor does sometimes, but then at other times, he’s reluctant to get close even when they’re alone. It’s like he can’t make his mind up, and Connor doesn’t know how to make the decision for him. 

Kevin comes back out after a few minutes, stopping at the foot of the other bed and looks over at Connor. 

“Are you gonna sleep in those clothes?” he says, gesturing to Connor’s body with his eyes. 

“Maybe,” Connor says, rolling over to the side and propping himself up on his elbow. “Unless you wanna help me get out of them.” 

Kevin breathes out a scoff, but it’s playful rather than mocking. Connor has learned to spot the difference. “It’s late,” he says. 

“That’s never stopped you before.” 

Kevin makes a show of rolling his eyes, adding a very loud and exaggerated click of his tongue that elicits a laugh from Connor. “No, but being ten feet from other people has.” 

Connor raises his eyebrows in challenge, and he doesn’t even need to point out that people have most likely walked within ten feet of whoever’s truck they were having sex in at the moment before Kevin concedes. 

“Okay, fine. Being ten feet from _them_ ,” he says, mouthing the last word as if saying it out loud would somehow summon their friends, and Connor can only smile in response as Kevin takes a few steps and sits down next to where Connor is lying. “Besides,” he says with a grin. “I wanna make sure to get a good night’s sleep so I'm well-rested for whatever _adventure_ you have planned tomorrow.” 

“Oh, you don’t need to be rested for that,” Connor says, shuffling closer to where Kevin is sitting, his eyes working on undressing Kevin in is mind. 

Kevin smiles, and it’s just devilish enough to make Connor’s cheeks go red. He leans in – finally – and Connor pulls him down by his shirt, working his hands down to the hem and nudging Kevin to take it off. He doesn’t. Instead, he grabs Connor’s hands with his own, bringing them back up as he pulls away from the kiss while Connor is left breathless. Kevin smiles, lifts Connor’s hands to his lips, and leaves a soft kiss on both before he stands back up, undressing, but not for the reason Connor had wanted him to. 

“Good night, McKinley,” he says before crawling into the other bed. 

Connor stares before sitting up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed as he pulls his t-shirt over his head. “There’s enough room for both of us, you know,” he says to Kevin’s back and gets a chuckle in return. 

“I don’t trust you to keep your hands to yourself.” 

Connor doesn’t either, if he’s being completely honest. But sleeping alone in a bed when there’s another option at hand doesn’t sound very tempting at all, and so he takes his shorts off and crawls under the duvet, curling up against Kevin’s back with a content sigh. 

“Too bad,” he says, wrapping his arm around Kevin’s waist. 

“Connor,” Kevin says, and Connor resists the urge to roll his eyes, despite knowing Kevin wouldn’t even see. “What if they-” 

“There’s a lock.” 

Kevin is silent for a moment. “Did you lock it?” 

Connor is silent for a moment. “No.” 

Kevin gets up with a groan, heads for the door, and turns the lock. Only, it makes a much louder sound than either of them had anticipated, and Connor isn’t sure, but if Arnold and Naba are still awake, there’s no chance they didn’t hear it. 

“And that’s not suspicious if anything,” he says when Kevin gets back in bed, a smile playing on his lips that Kevin returns by twisting his face in mockery. 

“I’m just trying not to get caught.” 

Kevin gives him a slightly pointed look as he shuffles closer, but Connor only smiles. 

“Kinda funny how Arnold called me your boyfriend,” he says, watching Kevin react and if he’s honest, it isn’t quite as bad as he’d expected. Kevin only lifts his eyes to meet Connor’s, barely a crease in his forehead as he takes a deep breath, almost as though steeling himself. 

“Yeah,” he says after a while, rolling over on his side so they’re face to face. “Or at least it’s funnier than calling me mentally challenged. It’s like, he couldn’t think of _any_ disorder? He had to make it as vague as humanly possible?” 

Connor laughs with his nose wrinkled. It had been in quite poor taste, but then, he gets why Arnold lied. Hawthorne had only set up a meeting with him, and Naba is going along as both his girlfriend and the lead actress. Connor and Kevin are only there because Arnold wanted them to, and whichever way he made that possible, Connor will neither argue nor complain about. He has missed Florida, if only for the weather. 

They lie there for a while, just looking at each other before Connor lets his eyes close for just a beat longer as he blinks. Kevin catches on. 

“I can tell you’re tired,” he says, voice softer than the hotel’s Egyptian cotton duvet covers Connor considers stealing. “Why are you fighting it?” 

“I don’t know,” Connor says, letting his eyes stay closed for a few seconds before he opens them back up. “Maybe I just wanna savor this.” 

Kevin watches him, stares into his eyes with something Connor can’t quite decipher. Mainly because it’s too dark to even see most features of his face, but his eyes remain open and fixed on Connor’s for, he isn’t sure how long. But it’s kind of nice, just lying like that. In silence, and without the expectations of doing more or less. Just being, simple and plain. 

“Roll over,” Kevin says after a while and curls up against Connor’s back when he does so. He can feel Kevin breathe against his neck, making his skin tingle as Kevin wraps an arm around him and pulls him even closer. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

It’s almost a whisper, but just loud enough for Connor to hear the intonation in his voice and before he knows it, he’s smiling. Because he kind of, sort of, really believes him.

* * *

_Slice of Life_   
_August 7th_   
_8:34am_

Kevin wakes up by a knock on the door, and he rolls over with a groan. 

“What?” he calls instead of getting up to answer it. 

“We’re heading for breakfast in fifteen, you coming with?” he hears Arnold say, and he turns his head to check with Connor. 

Only, Connor isn’t there. 

“Uh,” he says, sitting up on the bed, looking around fervently as though he’d be able to spot Connor hiding somewhere in the barely furnished room. “Yeah. Be out in ten.” 

Arnold says something more but Kevin doesn’t hear him. He makes for the bathroom but finds it empty, and for a second, he almost freaks out. _Almost_. Before regaining his bearings, and considering that maybe, Connor is already in Arnold and Naba’s room. Yeah, he probably woke up early and didn’t want to wake Kevin, that’s got to be it. 

He quickly picks out a new set of clothes from his suitcase, throws it on, and fixes himself up a little before leaving. But the door to Arnold and Naba’s room is locked. From Kevin and Connor’s side, which means Connor can’t have gone through it. He decides not to think about it too hard as he turns the lock and pushes the door open. 

“Ready to go?” Arnold asks while Kevin looks around their room. 

“Where’s Connor?” he says instead of answering Arnold’s question. 

“You’re the one who’s sharing a room with him, bud,” Arnold says, glancing over at Naba for help. 

“Why do you think I would know?” she says, looking as expectantly between the two of them as they are looking at her before she rolls her eyes with a sigh. “He’s probably down by the pool or something. He has a thing for Floridian mornings.” 

Kevin frowns, but can’t ask for further information before Naba makes for the door. 

He had almost forgotten where they were staying and can admit he is slightly more impressed now than he had been last night. The restaurant is located on the ground level, and Kevin tells Arnold and Naba to go ahead as he goes to check the pool. 

The sun is high in the sky and is already burning his skin once he makes it outside. He knows it’s nine in the morning, which really isn’t very late at all, yet he’s surprised by how many people are already lounging by the poolside. People who aren’t Connor, that is. He scans the area, takes a lap just to make sure, but can’t spot Connor anywhere. 

Until he reaches the very end of the pool, at the far corner in a chair overlooking the bay, he spots pale white skin and reddish hair. 

“You scared me half to death, you know,” he says while approaching the chair, but gets no response, no reaction, no nothing. “Connor?” 

Connor still doesn’t answer, and before Kevin’s mind can snowball into a full panic, he reaches out to lift off Connor’s sunglasses to see if he’s sleeping. Only, when he touches them, Connor flinches awake with a startled yelp that, again, nearly scares the living shit out of Kevin. 

“Jesus Christ, Kevin,” Connor breathes once he remembers his surroundings. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.” 

“I was talking to you. You didn’t answer.” 

Connor places the sunglasses on his head while watching him with bemused eyes, but he doesn’t answer. He just settles back in the chair, expectantly looking up at Kevin as if waiting for him to continue. 

So he does. “How long have you been out here?” 

Connor hums in thought before saying, “I don’t know, since seven-thirty, maybe?” 

Kevin frowns. “Why?” 

“Because it’s a nice day?” 

“That’s a shit answer,” Kevin retorts, because it is. “Who wakes up at seven just to go sleep outside?” 

“I happen to like sleeping outside,” Connor says and Kevin doesn’t believe him at all. “If by outside you mean on an expensive sunlounger in a secluded yet well-kept location.” 

Kevin stares, unsure what to say. He has so many questions, but it’s early, he’s still tired, and he hasn’t eaten for over twelve hours. So, he decides to save his inquiries for later, and says, “We’re having breakfast. You coming with?” 

Connor twists his face in thought for a second before shaking his head. “I already ate.” 

“What, when?” Kevin nearly laughs. 

“When they opened,” Connor says casually. “At seven, before I came out here.” 

Kevin searches his face but Connor looks annoyingly indifferent and he isn’t sure how to feel about it. But then, he considers, perhaps he’s just a bit upset at Connor for leaving him to wake up alone. 

He doesn’t tell him that, though. Instead, he rolls his eyes with a playful scoff. “You’re so weird.” 

Connor leans back in the chair, puts his sunglasses back over his eyes, and smiles. “Thank you,” he says, and Kevin can’t stop his lips from curling as he walks back to the restaurant.

* * *

_Against the Grain_   
_August 7th_   
_10:49am_

They all leave at the same time. Arnold and Naba going off to meet with the guy who flew them out here, and Kevin and Connor going on a non-date date. Connor isn’t sure what else to call it. 

They catch a bus down Old Cutler Road and walk the last twenty minutes before they reach their destination. Palm trees line the streets leading up to an urban park right by the waterside, and they only have to walk a few minutes before they reach a lagoon, the white beach stretching along the arc until it comes full circle on the other side. There are patches of grass in a few places, and Connor leads them away from the densest area, toward the edge where he knows just the spot. 

It’s a place Connor became very familiar with during his two-year stay in Orlando. A place he could escape to when things got hard, a bit of a safe haven, if you will. He has missed it more than he realized once they make it there, and he regrets not finding a similar place back in New York. 

They walk for a while, just drinking in the views and weather, the sun hot against his skin but in a way that’s bearable. You’d think 85 degrees Fahrenheit and Connor’s pale complexion wouldn’t be a good match, but for some reason, he rarely burns. He doesn’t exactly get tan either, but it’s a small price to pay. 

They come to a stop by the waterfront, and Connor plops down on a patch of grass that overlooks the clear blue waves. Kevin joins him without question, looking around before turning his focus to Connor. 

“What is this place?” 

“It’s called Matheson Hammock Park,” Connor smiles. “I used to come here a lot when I lived in Orlando.” 

Kevin nods a few times, turning his eyes toward the ocean as though in thought. “With your mission companion?” 

“Sometimes,” Connor says, the memory still clear as day in his head. “Mostly by myself, though.” 

Kevin looks at him, an eyebrow slightly cocked as he searches Connor’s face. “You’re not supposed to leave your companion’s side.” 

Connor laughs. “Yeah, well, we weren’t exactly exemplary missionaries.” 

“And why’s that?” 

“Well, for starters, we were both gay,” Connor says and watches Kevin’s eyes flash something he doesn’t quite recognize. 

“Oh,” is all he gets in response. 

Connor shrugs. “It took six months before either of us realized the other was, though,” he says, a laugh escaping his throat that feels both amused and nostalgic, and very misplaced at the moment. “But once we did, it was… nice.” 

“Did you ever,” Kevin says, averting his eyes as he gestures lazily to nothing in particular, but Connor knows what he’s getting at. “You know.” 

“No, not really,” he says. “We kissed a couple of times but, nothing more than that.” 

Kevin seems relieved but Connor doesn’t hold it against him. “Oh,” he says again, watching Connor watch the waves. 

“Yeah, he was in love with this guy back in his hometown. And I was, well, I don’t know, actually. I guess I just figured we were better as friends, you know?” 

Kevin nods with a hum. “Yeah, I get it,” he says, turning his head to the ocean before looking back at Connor with a smile. “I was gonna make a jab at how two sexually repressed Mormons having to spend every waking _and_ sleeping hour together would make for some awkward tension but… I won’t.” 

Connor smiles, his eyebrows furrowing by reflex but it’s mostly due to bewilderment. Kevin Price turning down a chance to tease him? Whether that’s due to the heat or character growth, Connor isn’t sure, but he’s thankful for it. He kind of likes conversations like these, where they’re not trying to get under the other’s skin or clothes. Where they can just talk and feel comfortable sharing their thoughts, their memories. It feels like they’re finally starting to trust one another. 

“It was honestly a lot more melancholic than it was, tempting,” he says after a while, a nostalgic smile curling his lips. “We used to talk about things. Things we’d never really gotten the chance to talk about before, like when we first knew, how we were gonna come out to our parents.” He turns his head to the water again, a frown creasing his forehead as he remembers. “What would happen when we did.” 

Kevin considers him for a moment, Connor can see him watching him through the corner of his eye but he doesn’t say anything. It’s a sore spot for every queer ex-Mormon. Sort of an open wound that never truly heals but can be patched up for long enough to feel as though it has, until someone or something picks at the bandage and the reminder stains the memories like red wine on a white carpet. It’s an internal scar they all carry, but at least there’s strength in numbers. 

There may be different magnitudes of trauma between the two of them, and Connor knows he’s never really been dealt the short end of the stick. But, he considers, at least this is an issue he understands, and if Kevin ever needs help to ease the bleeding, Connor knows his way around a first aid kit. Just like he knows Kevin does too. They no longer have to rely solely on their own abilities to heal, and even if they’ve both had people there before – like Arnold or Naba – it's nice to, for once, have someone who’s felt the same weight on their shoulders to help lessen the load. 

“So,” Kevin breaks the silence after a while, turning back to look at Connor with sober eyes and a small smile. “Why’d you use to come here?” 

“I don’t know, really. I think I heard about it somewhere and one day, I was just here,” Connor says with a candid shrug. “And it was quiet but not lonely, vast but not overwhelmingly so, and I could just lie on the grass for hours and read, or think, or just, be alone for a while.” 

Kevin watches him, his head tilted slightly to the side, and his eyes searching. For what, Connor isn’t sure, but he hopes he finds it. He hopes Kevin finds the meaning of life in Connor’s eyes. 

“And I know what you’re gonna say,” he continues when Kevin doesn’t respond, rolling his eyes in the process. “ _Oh, Orlando must’ve been so tough that you had to escape to Miami, gee, Connor, you’re really fighting the good fight, boohoo._ ” 

Kevin laughs through his nose. “No, I get it,” he says, smiling that way he does that makes Connor forget they ever hated each other. “I had a place in Kitguli, kinda like this. It was by a river, some fifteen minutes from our mission hut, through the woods and, um. I never told anyone about it. Not even Arnold.” He turns to look back at the water, and Connor follows his gaze. “I guess I just liked having a place that was mine, where I could just, I don’t know, be alone. You know?” 

Connor does, and he shows it by reaching his hand out and intertwining his fingers with Kevin’s. “Well, I know I'll probably never get to see your secret hideaway but, this is mine,” he says, his free hand gesturing around lazily. “I’ll share it with you, if you’d like.” 

Kevin considers him for a brief moment, and Connor’s eyes never waver. “You’d do that?” 

A small laugh bubbles out as his lips twist into a smile, and he gives Kevin a look that he hopes proves his words are sincere, while simultaneously spelling out a _duh-doy_ with his eyes. Kevin smiles back, gently pulling him closer and capturing his lips once they’re within reach, and it’s so strange yet so perfect all at once. He hadn’t expected this when he brought him here. He hadn’t expected somewhat of a heart to heart or baring his soul like this, even if they were only talking about their respective coping mechanisms in the form of a secret escape. It feels like he doesn’t have to press Kevin for information; it feels like he’s finally starting to let him in. 

“You know, it’s funny,” he says when they both pull away. “If I would’ve known when I was twenty, sitting here contemplating life that one day, I'd return with... someone like you, I wouldn’t have believed it.” 

Kevin only smiles, so Connor goes on. 

“I thought my life would end once I came out to my parents. I thought they’d kick me out and that I'd have nowhere to turn, and...” 

“Did they?” Kevin’s smile turns a frown. 

“No,” Connor quickly reassures. “No, they um. Well, they weren’t exactly happy about it but, you know. We don’t really talk about it anymore, but they never forced me out. And they still call on the major holidays, and I call them every once in a while.” He turns away for a moment, his eyes falling out of focus as he watches the waves roll in. “It’s honestly more than I ever expected.” 

When he looks back, Kevin is still watching him and he’s searching Connor’s face the same way he did earlier, as though there’s something hidden behind his eyes. Connor doesn’t know how to tell him the deep end of his personality is about as shallow as a wading pool. 

“How about you?” he says when Kevin doesn’t answer. “How’d your folks take it?” 

“They uh, well, pretty much the same, I guess. They weren’t over the moon, but um. I remember, a few days after I came out to them, they sat me down at the kitchen table – just me, my mom, and my dad, and they told me that no matter what, they still loved me,” Kevin says, his eyes staring at a point just beside Connor’s face, and an absentminded smile forms on his lips before he turns his focus back to Connor. “I mean, this was after I came out, after I was excommunicated, after I told them I wanted to move to New York with Arn, and... They understood.” 

Connor smiles as he gives Kevin’s hand a light squeeze. 

“Or, well, understood might be a stretch, but, you know,” Kevin says with a shrug, and Connor gets what he means. They probably didn’t understand, but acceptance means just as much, most of the time. “Besides, I'm pretty sure if they kicked me out or anything like that, my grandma woulda kicked both their asses, so.” 

Connor laughs. “Wow,” he says. “Go, grandma Price.” 

“Yeah, she’s always kinda lived by her own rules,” Kevin smiles, and it’s different from the way he usually does. Connor wonders why but doesn’t ask. “She’s never cared what people think, and she lets everyone do their own thing. After I came out to her,” a small laugh escapes his lips, “she bought a rainbow flag sticker and put it on her car, and she calls every year on June first to wish me happy Pride,” he says, smiling as he meets Connor’s eyes, but then he quickly averts his gaze again with an airy laugh. “And she texts _constantly_ asking when I'm gonna get married and have kids and yadda yadda yadda.” 

When he looks back, he’s almost blushing. _Almost_ , Connor reminds himself and decides to bite his tongue. “She sounds pretty awesome,” he says instead. 

Kevin smiles. “She is,” he says, tilting his head slightly as he holds Connor’s gaze with his own. “She’d like you.” 

“Well, no pressure then,” Connor says with a laugh but Kevin persists and after a while, Connor believes him. And he’s pretty sure that if grandma Price is anything like her grandson, Connor would like her, too. He takes the chance to study Kevin’s face while they’re sitting there, close and comfortable, Kevin’s eyes leaving goosebumps as they trail across Connor’s skin, and he wonders for a moment if Kevin has ever told her about him. So, he decides to ask. “Have you ever told her about me?” 

Kevin’s eyes flick back to his instantly as his mouth falls open. “I uh,” he says, pausing as if to take a breath but Connor is fairly certain he ends up holding it instead. “Yeah.” 

Connor’s eyes widen with curiosity. And maybe just a little pride. “Seriously?” 

Kevin rolls his eyes but smiles regardless, and if he nearly blushed before, his cheeks are positively red now. “Like I said, she calls _a lot_ ,” he deflects. “My brother helped her get an iPhone like, two years ago, and I swear she’s more obsessed with that thing than anyone I know.” 

That won’t do, though. Connor wants to know everything. “What have you told her about me?” he asks, his eyes curious and his smile wide, but Kevin only shakes his head. 

“That’s between me, her, and whatever federal agent that’s reading our messages.” 

Connor lets out an amused breath. “You know, it’s kinda impressive how you manage to turn every conversation into political commentary.” 

Kevin shrugs with a smile as he scoots closer, so they’re sitting hip to hip, and he pulls their interlocked hands to rest in his lap before he offers a playful look in Connor’s direction. “One of my many talents,” he says, and Connor can’t resist the urge to kiss him. 

So he doesn’t, and Kevin laughs softly against his lips.

* * *

_Slice of Life_   
_August 7th_  
 _3:21pm_

They left Matheson Hammock Park to grab a late lunch and then made their way to spend the afternoon at Miami Beach. Kevin isn’t sure why, since there was a perfectly fine beach where they were, but he won’t argue. Connor had planned the day after all, and he doesn’t want to seem ungrateful for it even for a second. 

Miami Beach is a lot more crowded, though. Despite the fact that it stretches for literal miles, there still seems to be people most everywhere, and when they finally find a somewhat secluded spot, it’s past three, giving them just about an hour before they need to head back to the hotel for dinner. Connor fishes out a blanket from the bag he’s carried with him all day and plops down on it as soon as they get it onto the sand. 

“Why didn’t we just stay at the other place?” Kevin says when he joins him. 

“Because,” Connor says, leaning back on his hands with a smile. “Miami Beach is my Disneyland.” 

Kevin gives him a bored stare. “Disney World.” 

Connor laughs. “No,” he says, shaking his head. “Key West is my Disney World.” 

Kevin rolls his eyes as he lies down on his side, propping himself up with his elbow while attempting his best casually bothered face. “So you get to drag me to _your_ Disneyland – which, by the way, is just a beach – but I can’t go to the real Disney World?” he huffs. “How’s that fair?” 

“Maybe you should’ve pitched the idea before we boarded the plane,” Connor says with a shrug, his eyebrows raised as if awaiting a rebuttal. 

“I would’ve,” Kevin retorts. “But no one told me we were even going here until the day of.” 

A groan escapes Connor’s lips as he lies down on his back, idly waving his hand in front of Kevin’s face before Kevin catches it with his own. “Can we just enjoy the sun,” Connor says through a sigh. “Please.” 

Kevin doesn’t argue further but smiles, even though Connor’s eyes are closed, and he takes the moment to lock their hands together. They lie like that for a while. Connor folds his free arm over his eyes, and Kevin knows he’s staring but he can’t help it. Besides, Connor can’t see so if anything, it’s the perfect opportunity to steal a glance. 

He nearly forgets about everything. The people around them, the scorching sun, the time. There’s just something fundamentally calming about Connor drawing circles with his thumb on the back of Kevin’s hand while they lie in a bubble of silence amidst the idle chatter surrounding them. Everything feels so effortless with Connor. He doesn’t need to try so hard to just be, it’s plain and simple, but in a good way, and he wonders if Connor feels it too. 

“Can you imagine if this all works out,” Connor says after a while, pulling Kevin back from his thoughts to refocus his eyes on Connor. “If Arnold can get an actual producer on board with the show. We could start it up again and run for, well, longer than two weeks at least, and,” he lifts his arm away from his face to reveal two glistening eyes, “I would actually get paid.” 

Kevin lets out a soft laugh. “You really love this whole acting thing, don’t you?” 

“Well, yeah,” Connor smiles, holding his free hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun while still allowing him to meet Kevin’s gaze. “You know, I'm sure you’d be pretty good at it if you only gave it a chance.” 

A sigh leaves his lips before he can stop it and he rolls his eyes in emphasis. “Here we go again.” 

Connor sticks his tongue out, twisting his face in retort before a smirk curls his lips upward. “I’m just saying,” he says. “You know your way around a stage.” 

Kevin narrows his eyes at him but doesn’t dispute it. He isn’t an actor, he never will be, but he can humor Connor if it makes him smile. Kevin has found he doesn’t mind being the butt of the joke as much when Connor’s the one poking fun, and sure, it might be because he knows he can claim his revenge later or simply shut him up with a kiss, but that doesn’t make it any less true. 

“I just can’t imagine moving back to Florida.” 

Wait. 

_What._

Connor seems to realize his mistake the instant the words left his tongue, and Kevin sits up with even narrower eyes, unsure whether to laugh or stick his head in the sand. 

“What did you just say?” is what comes out eventually. 

Connor pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fuck.” 

“Why would you be moving to Florida?” 

“Right, so I wasn’t supposed to tell you that,” Connor says, joining Kevin as he sits back up, chewing his lip when he meets Kevin’s eyes. “Any chance you can forget it ever happened?” 

Kevin gives him a pointed look that he hopes conveys the “Hell no,” he can’t quite manage to speak. 

“Alright, shit, um. Well, you know he’s meeting with a producer, right?” Connor says, and Kevin nods his head with excessive force. “And Hawthorne is based in Miami so if they reach an agreement, chances are the production would be here – and before you say anything, please remember that this is an _insanely_ good deal for a relatively new writer like Arnold. If he doesn’t act on the momentum now, people are gonna forget about it.” 

Kevin doesn’t know what to say, and still, he opens and closes his mouth several times before averting his eyes to the ocean. That wasn’t part of the plan – _Florida_ wasn’t part of the plan. New York has been their home for over half a decade, and they’re all just ready to throw it away like this? It’s almost too ironic, that Kevin would theoretically love being three hours away from a Disney theme park, yet when the offer is very much on the table, it somehow feels more like an ultimatum. 

“What about me?” he says suddenly, still keeping his head turned away as he hadn’t really meant to say anything at all. 

“What do you mean?” 

Kevin turns back at that, hurriedly shooting him another pointed glare in the process. “I mean – you're all part of the show. The three of you, and I'm not,” he says, and he notices his voice is a lot harsher than he intended it to be. “What about me?” 

“I,” Connor falters briefly, seemingly trying to shake the frown from his face. “I assumed you’d come with.” 

“My life is in New York, Connor,” Kevin points out. “As is yours, and Arnold’s, and Naba’s.” 

“Well, it’s not like it would be forever. Even if he gets a deal, it’ll probably be a limited run unless the outcome is crazy good,” Connor shrugs halfheartedly, looking down at his feet like a child caught red-handed. “Besides, nothing is carved in stone, you know. I just, I wasn’t supposed to tell you in case nothing comes of it. I guess Arnold knew you’d react, you know, like this.” 

Kevin knows, but it still feels a bit like a knife in his back, even though he knows it hadn’t been done out of malice. He promised himself to try and recognize Arnold’s accomplishments more often, even if they interfere with his own comfort, and this shouldn’t be any different. Arnold might get someone to produce something _he_ wrote, that’s incredible. He deserves to see his work be taken seriously, even if it happens to be in Florida. It’s still a feat, and Kevin shouldn’t be the one to stand in his way. 

Connor has turned his head toward the ocean, staring absentmindedly while still biting his bottom lip, and Kevin feels bad for snapping. He follows Connor’s gaze, letting his eyes glide along the beach before reaching the water, and he watches the tide roll in for a moment before saying, “Do people even watch theatre in Florida?” and he smiles when it elicits a surprised laugh from Connor. 

“No, all they do here is complain about the weather and play mini golf,” he says, nearly rolling his eyes but stops himself halfway to shake his head with a smile. “Of course, they do.” 

And he doesn’t argue, but he makes a mental note to pester Arnold for not telling him.

* * *

_Slice of Life_   
_August 7th_   
_8:24pm_

After dinner, they all headed out to the poolside bar for a celebratory drink. The meeting with Hawthorne had gone well, although they still weren’t sure of the details. All they knew was that he’d liked it enough to help stage a production, and honestly, that had been more than enough for Arnold. 

Kevin is only slightly worried about possibly having to up and change his entire life. 

He’s able to push them aside for now, though, as Connor drags him into their room throws himself against Kevin’s lips. Arnold and Naba are still down by the pool, and Kevin and Connor’s excuse to leave had been as see-through as it had been made up, which was very. 

And now here they are, Kevin stumbling backward as Connor pushes him with gentle force toward the bed, and he can taste red wine on Connor’s tongue as he deepens the kiss. It takes barely no time at all for Connor to shimmy out of his button-down before he gets to work on Kevin’s, and he wants to lose himself in the moment but for some reason, his head can’t seem to tune out and he realizes he’s more focused on trying to hear if Arnold and Naba get back to their room than he is on Connor’s lips against his neck. 

“Wait, Connor,” he says, gently pushing him back a little and he breathes out a confused groan in response. “They could come back any minute.” 

Connor sits back up, still straddling his hips as his eyebrows shoot up in question. “So?” 

“So, we shouldn’t,” Kevin says, gesturing down Connor’s body with his eyes. “You know.” 

Connor shrugs as he leans back down, and breathes, “I don’t care,” against his skin. 

“But I do,” Kevin persists, and this time Connor takes the hint and slides off him, although not without a scoff. “I just, I don’t wanna lose this.” 

Connor looks back at him with a frown. “What’s that mean?” he says. “Why would you lose it?” 

Kevin sits up with a quiet huff and knits his brows together in a similar way. “I don’t know,” he shrugs. “I just feel like it’ll complicate things.” 

Connor is still watching him with perturbed eyes, glancing away for a moment as if in thought. “And?” 

“And it’s easier like this,” Kevin says and regains Connor’s attention, although he would have preferred it if he didn’t look so – Kevin doesn’t want to say hurt, but it’s the only word he can think of. And he hates it more than anything. “Isn’t that what you want?” 

Connor doesn’t answer. He just narrows his eyes as they fall out of focus, and Kevin desperately wants to know what he’s thinking but searching his face still leaves him none the wiser. 

“You think I want, _this_?” comes a question after a moment, but his eyes stay fixed on a point midair while Kevin tries to meet them. 

“I-” Kevin falters, trying to put his thoughts into comprehensive words without much luck at all. “Well, yeah, I mean. I thought we were on the same page about this.” 

Connor finally snaps back to reality and turns his attention back to Kevin’s eyes. But he doesn’t look like he agrees with anything Kevin just said. His eyes are narrow and suspicious as they search Kevin’s face for god knows what. “For fuck’s sake, Kevin. Is this what _you_ want? Sneaking around like fucking school kids?” he says, almost with a humorless laugh, but his expression remains steely as he raises his eyebrows in question. “Because I don’t wanna do that anymore.” 

Kevin only stares, unsure what to say and even less certain what to think. Has he been reading them wrong this entire time? He thought Connor wanted to be with him, thought they were getting closer and, _maybe_ , even growing to be more than that. Yet it seems he managed to fuck something up, just like he always does, only, he doesn’t know what. They haven’t fought all day, have barely even bickered, and yet, here they are, back to their old normal and it has never felt more wrong. 

“So that’s it then?” he says after a while, staring blankly at the ruffled duvet, unable to meet Connor’s eyes as he clenches his jaw. “It’s just, over?” 

Connor breathes out an airy scoff as he turns away, shaking his head. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he says. “That’s your takeaway?” 

“Well, that’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?” Kevin retorts, raising his voice without even really meaning to, but it feels like he’s fighting a losing battle and he’s just trying to keep his head above the water. “That you’re done, that you don’t wanna do this anymore.” 

Connor flies to his feet, turning around with a sound Kevin can’t even describe, but he knows it’s not exactly a delighted one, and he shakes his head before saying anything at all. “You’re not even- Fuck's sake.” He pinches the bridge of his nose as he begins pacing the floor. “I can’t deal with this right now.” 

“What the hell did I do – I don’t _get_ what I did wrong this time,” Kevin says, the words falling off his tongue before he can even process them, and he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how he screwed up, and worst of all, he doesn’t know how to fix it. “Why do you have to do this right now, why can’t we just enjoy the moment?” 

“How the fuck am I supposed to enjoy the moment when you act like the moment means nothing?” Connor nearly shouts, and then suddenly, Kevin is on his feet, too. 

“Oh, I'm acting like it means nothing?” he jeers, and _no no no shut up-_ “All you’ve done since we came here is try to get into my pants, and now you’re mad at me because what, because I said no?” 

Connor scoffs, his eyes glaring and it burns Kevin’s skin for all the wrong reasons. “Get over yourself,” he says, turning away, and Kevin grabs his wrist to keep him from leaving. 

“No, look at me – I don’t get it, Connor,” he says, his breathing heavy as Connor searches his eyes with suspicious scrutiny. “What do you want from me?” 

Connor’s expression drops for a moment, as his eyes flicker away briefly. “Jesus Christ, Kevin,” he says, and his voice is filled with amused disbelief yet sounds utterly humorless to Kevin. He stares for a moment before clicking his tongue, and says, “Find me when you figure that out.” 

And then he yanks his arm out of Kevin’s grip and leaves through the door to Arnold and Naba’s room. Kevin can hear the lock turn before he realizes what happened. 

The thing is – he still doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand what made Connor so angry, and he doesn’t think it’s fair that he’s just supposed to be able to read his mind. He isn’t fucking psychic. And sure, maybe he didn’t need to go off the rails and lose his temper the way he had, but he’s just. Sometimes he just feels like screaming. Into the void, so loud that it makes his lungs hurt. If only to get it out of his system. 

He decides against it, though – as he does most times – because Connor is on the other side of the wall, and he just wants to make it right. If that’s even possible at this point. 

He buttons his shirt again before leaving through the door that leads to the hallway, and he sprints down the stairs and makes for the pool where he spots Arnold and Naba, in the same place they had left them just thirty or so minutes ago. 

“I need to talk to you,” he says, breathless and panicked as the couple looks up at him. 

“Sure thing,” Arnold says, gesturing to one of the empty chairs beside them but Kevin doesn’t sit. “What’s wrong, bud?” 

Kevin opens his mouth to answer but doesn’t say anything before his eyes glance over to Naba, almost by reflex, but she notices. 

“Do you want me to leave...?” she says, slowly and expectant, shooting Arnold a glance before Kevin can shake his head. 

“No, um,” he says, closing his eyes briefly to reassess before he takes a seat. “You should hear this too. It’s um.” His eyes dart between the two of them. Maybe he shouldn’t do this, maybe this will only make things worse than they already are, maybe- “Connor and I have been sleeping together.” 

Well, shit. 

Neither says a word as they exchange a brief glance. Arnold’s expression changes at least twenty times before his mouth just forms an o shape, as though trying to say something but failing to do so, and Naba bites her lip as she nods slowly. 

Kevin raises his eyebrows, still waiting for a reaction. 

“Oh, _oh_. Whaaaat, no way, that’s crazy.” Arnold lies. Badly. “You and Connor? I can’t believe what I'm hearing – Can you believe this, Naba?” 

Naba stifles a laugh. 

“What the fuck,” Kevin deadpans, his eyes still moving back and forth between them. “You guys knew?” 

“You’re not exactly discreet,” Naba says, and Arnold agrees with a nod. 

Kevin doesn’t know what to say. “Since when?” is what he manages in the end. 

“Well, kinda since we went on that double date and you guys fucked in the bathroom,” Naba says, and Kevin nearly chokes on his spit. 

“We didn’t- _Wait_ ,” he cuts himself off. “That was over a month ago, why didn’t you say anything?” 

They both share a glance and a giggle at that. “Because you guys are impossible,” Naba says, her eyes bordering between sympathetic and pitying. “And I've practically told Connor several times already but he still denies it.” 

Kevin stares at her for a moment, and when he decides to answer, he focuses on possibly the least important detail of all. “That wasn’t a double date.” 

Naba smiles. “Whatever you say, babe.” 

Arnold clears his throat then, earning a confused look from both Naba and Kevin before Naba seems to remember herself and rolls her eyes with a sigh. Kevin stares as Arnold wiggles his eyebrows victoriously. “I think you owe me twenty bucks,” he says, to which Naba sticks out her tongue. 

“Wait,” Kevin says, looking between the two with narrowed eyes. “You were betting on us?” 

“Yes, and unfortunately,” Naba says with excessive emphasis. “Connor has been denying it every time I've brought it up.” 

Kevin scowls but can’t say anything before Arnold chimes in again. “So, what’s up?” he says, circling back to the reason Kevin came down here in the first place. “What happened?” 

“I, uh. I don’t know,” Kevin says, and it feels like admitting defeat. “We were in our room and, you know, doing um, things, and I was just worried you guys would come back.” He looks away, clearing his throat as both Arnold and Naba try their best to listen without laughing. “So I told him we should stop and he just, I don’t know, he just flipped.” 

Naba frowns. “Well, did he say anything?” 

“He said he didn’t care.” 

“About what?” she continues. 

“About you walking in on us,” Kevin says, trying to remember the turn of events as clearly as possible. “So I told him that I cared, and that I didn’t want to ruin what we have, and he just sorta, I don’t know. He told me he didn’t want to do this anymore.” 

“Wait, what?” Arnold says, his brows knitting together as his eyes find Naba’s. 

“That... can’t be right,” she says. “Are you sure you’re not forgetting something? What exactly did he say?” 

Kevin frowns and gives a small shrug. “I asked him if he wanted things to be like this – to be easy, and he said no,” he says but Naba still doesn’t seem to believe him. “Or, well, he kind of answered with the same question – if I wanted things to be like this, to sneak around and hookup in secret, and then he said he didn’t want that. So.” 

And suddenly, something dawns on both Arnold and Naba at the same time, but conveniently leaves Kevin excluded from what is apparently so obvious about this whole thing. 

“ _Oh_ ,” Naba says, snapping her fingers as it hits her. 

“Oh, buddy,” Arnold agrees shortly after. “That’s not what he meant.” 

Kevin only stares, his forehead creased to the point that it nearly gives him a headache. “What?” 

“He meant he doesn’t want to sneak around,” Naba clarifies, and suddenly it dawns on Kevin too. Like a fucking train to the face. _Fuck_. “Did that really not even cross your mind?” 

Kevin shakes his head. It’s only ever been black and white with Connor, they fight or the fuck, and that’s that. Until they started adding all these emotions and slow kisses and open conversations and, shit. He didn’t consider the gray area spreading so soon. He didn’t know Connor wanted it already, and if he’s honest, he didn’t know that he wanted it, either. Someday, sure, but now? He feels like he’s only just started letting Connor inside, and he’s afraid that if he commits so soon, he’ll leave all cards on the table. It’s embarrassing, but he’s still afraid it’ll mean he loses. 

“Well,” Arnold carefully starts when Kevin doesn’t answer. “Do you want that? Sneaking around and all?” 

It isn’t a difficult question, yet he feels like there’s no suitable answer. “I don’t know.” 

“Do you like him?” Naba adds, and Kevin meets her eyes, expectant yet kind. 

“I don’t know,” he repeats stupidly. 

“Okay, let me rephrase,” she says, shifting in her seat so she’s facing Kevin head-on. “How does he make you feel?” 

That’s a dumb question, Kevin wants to say. “I don’t know,” is what comes out, and Naba lets out a sigh before shaking her head. 

“Kevin, come on,” she says. “Help me out here.” 

“Alright, he makes me feel... good,” he says, trying to go back to all those moments when it’s been just the two of them. When they’ve laughed or smiled or had actual conversations. The times he’s gotten to fall asleep beside him, gotten to hold him and feel his pulse echo against his skin. He tries to remember how he felt, how he still feels, and it’s overwhelming, but maybe, he considers, in a positive way. “And safe. And nervous.” 

Arnold smiles carefully, which isn’t something Arnold is very good at, so the smile soon stretches from ear to ear, and Kevin nearly manages to return the gesture. “Butterflies-in-your-stomach nervous?” 

Until he says that. “That only happens in movies,” he says, giving Arnold a slightly pointed look but Naba is quick to defend him. 

“Alright, butterflies might be a stretch, but,” she says, glancing over to Arnold with a smile. “Does he make you feel just a little bit lightheaded?” 

Arnold returns the smile. “Is it difficult to focus when he’s around?” 

“Do you think about him when he’s not?” 

“Does your heart do little somersaults when he smiles?” 

“Does your skin tingle when he touches you?” 

Kevin stares between them, bouncing compliments disguised as advice back and forth until he rolls his eyes and regains their attention with a sigh. “Is this what love is like for you guys?” he says, realizing he said love but playing it off as nothing, even though both Arnold and Naba definitely noticed, and definitely exchanged an excited glance at the mention. “Because it sounds like you’re just listing symptoms form Web M.D. on some obscure disease.” 

Arnold chuckles, taking Naba’s hand in his own as he turns back to Kevin. “That’s not an answer,” he says and ignores the way Kevin glares. “Does he?” 

Kevin sighs, closing his mouth to think – _as if that would make it easier_. 

“I think so.” 

Huh. Maybe it did. 

“But that doesn’t mean anything, though,” he quickly continues, before either of them has the chance to interject. “Aren't I supposed to, just, know? Like, shouldn’t there be more of a sign?” 

They share a brief look before turning back to Kevin. “What do you mean?” Naba asks. 

“Maybe I'm not the best spokesperson, but I feel like _love_ always comes in some sort of revelation,” he says, trying to explain his thought process. “There’s always that big, life-changing moment when one person pours their heart out and the other person just knows. Right?” 

Naba tilts her head to the side while Arnold frowns, and Kevin feels dumb. Again. It’s starting to become somewhat of a standard for him. 

“Look, bud,” Arnold starts, with focused determination in his eyes as he considers his words. “I think you might see love from a Disney perspective, because those are the only romance movies you watch and, well, they’re not exactly realistic.” He gives a small laugh while Kevin only waits for him to elaborate. “I mean, you’re not gonna sing your wishes into a well, you’re not gonna lose your voice and try to get it back by kissing a prince, you’re not gonna save China. Hell, you’re not even gonna save China _town_.” 

Kevin twists his face in confusion. “So? I don’t get what you’re saying.” 

Arnold is silent for a moment, his brows knitting together again in that way he does when he’s thinking. “Okay,” he says, shifting in his seat as he leans forward slightly. “Connor isn’t gonna do some big, romantic gesture and tell you he loves you in front of a bunch of people, because no one does that anymore.” He wrinkles his nose with a hurried laugh. “And people who do are kinda cringy, anyway.” 

Naba laughs, poorly feigning a scowl as she flicks his arm with a finger. “That’s mean, Arnold.” 

“I’m sorry, but it’s not my fault I get secondhand embarrassment when people propose to their partners in front of an audience. I mean, there’s so much riding on them saying yes, it’s-” he cuts himself off as his eyes double in size. “Oh shit.” 

“What?” Naba and Kevin say in unison. 

“That’s brilliant,” Arnold suddenly laughs. “If you propose in front of a bunch of people the other person _has_ to say yes, or they’ll look like human garbage, right? I didn’t even think about that, maybe that’s the perfect way to do it.” 

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Naba warns, but there’s a smile playing on her lips that lets Arnold off the hook, regardless. 

“I don’t see how that’s relevant to problem at hand here, guys,” Kevin says, as they both turn back to look at him, and Arnold offers a slow nod. 

“Right, okay so, Connor might not fly you to Disneyland and get down on one knee at sunset, but he’s done other things. Things that we’ve picked up on, although I'm not sure if you have,” he says, and he’s somehow both cautious and rambling, which isn’t that strange, considering this is Arnold. “They were still romantic gestures, just not the grand type.” 

Kevin frowns. “Like what?” 

“When he went to check on you after opening night,” Naba says. 

“When he brought you to Crystal’s,” Arnold adds. 

“When he literally planned a date for you today.” 

“That wasn’t a date,” Kevin says, to which Naba smiles. 

“Oh, babe,” she laughs. “You’re so clueless we oughta call you Cher.” 

Kevin shoots her a puzzled look but gets no further explanation than that. 

“Look, I once had a guy bring me to McDonald’s for a date, and-” 

“Because we were both hungover and everyone knows they have the best hangover food,” Arnold interjects. 

“- _and_ , what I'm saying is – a cutesy day on the beach definitely qualifies as a date.” 

Kevin only stares. He doesn’t know what to say. If Naba is right – which, let’s be honest, she usually is – that means they have technically been on several dates already. Even if they weren’t conventional dates, bringing someone to get stitched up at the strip club they used to work at is no stranger than going to a museum. Singing together at a karaoke bar is just going out for drinks with higher stakes. Showing someone your secret hideaway is, perhaps, the most intimate thing Kevin can even imagine. 

He just never figured they could mean so much below the surface. 

“If you expect love to be fireworks over Cinderella’s castle, you’re never gonna see the little things for what they are,” Arnold says, and for the first time, it makes sense. 

If he puts all those moments, all the small things Connor has done together, they fall in place like pieces of a puzzle. He just didn’t see the big picture before. It’s as though he lost the box and tried to piece them together at random until suddenly, he remembered the image and realized it was all there. Everything, every single piece from the way he smiled after Kevin got pulled on stage, to the way he waited for him at Crystal’s. There wasn’t anything missing, Kevin had just misplaced the pieces. 

“Go get him,” Arnold says when Kevin snaps out of his thoughts, and he realizes he hadn’t been all wrong. It might not have been the revelation he’d expected, but this sure felt like one. 

He doesn’t answer, he just shoots up from his seat, his hands trembling and he isn’t sure his knees would buckle as soon as he tries to walk but it doesn’t matter. 

As he turns around, Naba stops him. “Oh, and Kevin?” she says, a smile playing on her lips as he turns back. “Don’t break his heart, or I'll be forced to break your face.” 

Kevin laughs, and it surprises himself more than anyone. “Well, I feel like I can’t threaten you back because of, you know, double standards, but same goes for Arnold,” he says, returning the smile and hopes she recognizes the gratitude. “Only, if you break his heart, I'll write you an angry letter or something.” 

Naba smiles and waves him off as he turns around again to leave. And he doesn’t exactly run back up, but he rushes, that’s for sure, because he feels that if he doesn’t say it soon, he’ll lose the momentum and the words will just sound clunky and awkward. It has to be now. 

He knocks three times, trying to steady his breathing as he waits before he realizes he’s standing in front of the door to their room and remembers that Connor went into Arnold and Naba’s before he left. 

So, he tries his luck at their door instead, and it barely takes five seconds before Connor opens, and it nearly breaks Kevin’s heart to see him so torn up. 

“Hey,” he says, and curses how out of breath he sounds. 

Connor hesitates before saying, “Hi.” 

“Can I come in?” 

“Did you figure it out?” 

“What?” Kevin frowns before he remembers. “I mean, yes. I mean, I think so.” He gestures past Connor with his eyes. “Can I?” 

Connor doesn’t answer, but steps out of the way, watching as Kevin steps inside and sits carefully on Arnold and Naba’s bed. Kevin expects him to do the same, but Connor remains fixed to the spot, watching with an indecipherable expression as Kevin considers his words. 

“I don’t know if I know what you want,” he admits after a moment, looking up to meet Connor’s eyes. “To be honest, I still kinda thought this was just a game we were both trying to win. That we were still competing rather than working together, and,” he falters, trying to gather his thoughts as they zoom haphazardly through his head. “I realized I don’t care.” 

Connor cocks an eyebrow, yet keeps his face perfectly unfazed. “You don’t care?” 

“I don’t care if this means I lose,” Kevin says, steeling himself with a deep breath as he channels all sincerity he can muster into his voice. “I don’t hate you, Connor,” comes the understatement of the year. 

Connor watches him for a moment, and Kevin can see his eyes change but he doesn’t dare get his hopes up. Which seems like a sound decision when Connor says, “Well, that’s embarrassing for you,” and the world literally crumbles around him. 

“What?” he breathes, shaking his head as he gets to his feet. “Oh my god, I thought-“ 

“Kevin, I’m,” Connor stops him with a strangely rueful laugh. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t funny.” 

Kevin stares, his mouth agape as Connor winces at his own impeccably bad timing. “Are you fucking kidding me?” 

Connor bites his lip. “Yes.” 

Kevin breathes out a relieved laugh as he sinks back onto the bed. “You’re a fucking dick, you know that.” 

“I know,” Connor says as he sits down beside him, offering a trying smile that Kevin accepts without question. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t hate you either.” 

Kevin laughs, because what else can he do, really. He doesn’t know what else to say, and Connor looks at him and it just feels right. At that moment, he just knows. At fucking last. 

“I used to, though,” Connor says as they both lean in, and Kevin can’t help but smile because, despite everything, they did sort of start this whole thing as enemies. “So much.” 

“So much,” Kevin echoes into Connor’s mouth, and sure, it isn’t fireworks. It isn’t even a sparkler, but it’s enough, and Kevin can feel his heart racing and his mind go blank. 

Connor smiles against his lips, carefully trailing his hands up Kevin’s body and locking them together behind his head, letting his arms rest on Kevin’s shoulders, and he can feel Connor gently pulling him along as he leans back. But Kevin breaks the kiss before he follows because there’s still so much more he wants to say. 

“And I’m not just saying this to win some game or because we have ridiculously good sex – although that is definitely part of it, it’s stupid good, but um,” he says as Connor falls down onto the bed with a laugh, and Kevin watches him with heart-shaped eyes. “I think I just realized you’re actually a pretty good person.” 

Connor looks up at him with smiling eyes, and lets out a mostly silent laugh as he says, “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” 

Kevin winces, if only a little, closing his eyes in embarrassment before looking back at Connor and almost pleads, “I hate that that’s true,” he says. “I don’t want it to be true.” 

Connor smiles as he sits back up, the look in his eyes forgiving as he looks around the room. “So,” he says, idly drumming his fingers against the bedsheets. “What do we do now?” 

Shit. Kevin hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Do you wanna get, brunch?” 

Connor laughs. “It’s nine thirty,” he says, and when Kevin’s expression remains the same, adds, “PM.” 

“Late, late brunch?” 

“How about a drink?” Connor thankfully suggests, and Kevin nods in concurrence. 

“Yeah,” he says, as though considering the words as they fall off his tongue. “A drink sounds good.” 

“Okay, so um,” Connor says, an unsure smile playing across his face as he averts his eyes. “I’ll, um, meet you at the bar in twenty?” 

Kevin isn’t sure why they can’t just go down together but doesn’t argue and offers a nod in response. 

“I just, I gotta get changed,” Connor says, and Kevin immediately realizes he probably should, too. “Do you mind-“ 

Connor’s eyes dart to a spot behind Kevin as he falters, and Kevin turns around to see Connor’s suitcase. In Arnold and Naba’s room. 

“Look, don’t take it personally, but I might’ve switched mine and Arnold’s bags in case, you know, things didn’t work out,” Connor explains, his eyes cautious as Kevin watches, but he returns the smile as soon as Kevin offers it. “Do you mind if I…” 

Kevin realizes only a beat too late what he’s getting at and instantly gets up on his feet with a nod. “Yeah, sorry,” he says, feeling so oddly out of place yet his heart keeps – _fuck_ – it keeps doing little somersaults, however idiotically cliche it sounds. “I should get changed too, and um, I’ll meet you at the bar.” 

Connor smiles. “In twenty.” 

“In twenty,” Kevin echoes, giving Connor one last smile before he unlocks the door to his and Connor – his and Arnold’s? – room, and the instant he closes it behind him, he brings up a hand to cover his mouth as if he’s just been caught swearing in a church. 

He just can’t believe it’s happening. They ended the game, or maybe this is winning, Kevin isn’t sure. It’s over yet only the start all at once, and suddenly, nothing matters. Or everything matters. Or Connor matters, but then, the latter two have quickly grown to be synonyms in Kevin’s dictionary.

* * *

_Against the Grain_  
 _August 7th_   
_9:32pm_

The instant Kevin closes the door behind him, Connor falls back on the bed with a muffled squeal. He feels like a teenage girl who just got asked to prom but he doesn’t fucking care. It beats the back and forth, push and pull kind of relationship they’ve had thus far; it beats the uncertainty. This is it, the point of no return is behind them, and the road ahead may twist, but hell, if he’s not going to walk it. After all, he won’t walk alone anymore. 

He digs through his suitcase before finding an outfit he’s happy with, and he realizes once he puts it on, that it just happens to be the same clothes he wore to Naba’s first performance in Arnold’s play. That was the first time he and Kevin had spent time together outside work. The first time they flirted. The first time Connor felt anything but bothered by Kevin’s presence. 

It’s kind of where it all started, in a strange way, and he wonders what would’ve happened if Naba never got that role. 

It’s a quarter to ten when he heads out, giving him enough time not to rush. He hesitates right outside the door, wonders if Kevin has left yet or if he should knock and see, but decides against it. He wants to do this for real. A proper date where they both show up separately and share an awkward greeting before going inside. He wants every first he’s missed out on with Kevin. Every single one. 

Kevin is stood by the edge of the bar, fidgeting with one of his sleeves and Connor can’t help but smile. The boy is wearing a suit, for god’s sake. Kevin glances up as Connor approaches him, and his gaze falls down Connor’s body before coming back up to meet his eyes. 

“Hey,” Connor says when he reaches him, stopping some two feet away. 

“Hi,” Kevin smiles, his mouth staying open as if to continue but it takes him a good ten seconds before he actually does. “You look good.” 

Connor laughs, twisting his face in amusement. “Why is this so weird?” 

“I don’t know,” Kevin says, shaking his head ever so slightly as his lips curl into a bewildered smile. “I don’t know how to be nice to you.” 

“I don’t know how to react to you being nice to me,” Connor agrees, and they just stand there for a moment, stupidly staring right at each other without knowing what to say or do or feel. 

This is unchartered turf, and Connor has waited to set foot on it for so long, yet now he’s here, it scares the living shit out of him. 

“Do you wanna order?” Kevin is the one to break the silence, and Connor nods. “What do you want?” 

“Is wine too predictable?” 

Kevin smiles. “Well, yeah,” he says. “But that’s okay. Red?” 

Connor nods and Kevin orders for both of them. And pays for both of them, which really shouldn’t surprise Connor as much as it does, but it’s just one of those things. One of the firsts he can’t help but cross off in his head. The second one comes once they find a table, or rather a booth, and lucky enough, it’s the kind where the seat stretches all the way around the table, so they can sit next to each other and Kevin can put his arm around Connor’s shoulders as they talk. The third one isn’t really a first at all because they’ve kissed countless times before, but Kevin asks for permission – genuinely says “Can I kiss you?” and fuck semantics, that feels like a first to Connor. 

If this is what they are now, what they’ve been reduced to, he doesn’t mind. It’s kind of exactly what he wanted, after all. He just didn’t let himself accept it at first, but maybe that doesn’t matter. Maybe Kevin needed more time, too, and honestly, it makes no difference to Connor because it’s happening now. 

He spots Arnold and Naba by the bar a while later, and Naba shoots him a smile that he returns with as much gratitude as he can convey into one look. She’s known longer than Connor has, but she never pushed further than she knew was okay, and Connor is thankful for that. Thankful that she knows him better than he does sometimes, and thankful that she doesn’t hold it against him. 

“What are you thinking about?” Kevin asks, and Connor turns his attention back to him with a smile. 

He thinks for a moment, switching between Kevin’s left and right eye before turning away with a small shake of his head. “Everything,” he says, and Kevin intertwines their fingers with a smile. 

“Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FUCKED UP Y'ALL. Remember a few chapters ago where Kevin said Disneyland was the most magical place on earth and not the happiest? WELL FUCK ME, I got it the wrong way around and now I'll never be able to let it go. I guess I could've just changed it and hoped no one noticed, but it's late and I'm inherently lazy so. Nah. 
> 
> This chapter was so hard to write because it's just so, mushy, you know? But this is it folks - they finally did it, it only took them 80k words which, in all fairness, is nothing compared to other fics but hey, that's fine. 
> 
> Also, I have absolutely no clue how getting a play produced works and I'm sure it's not like this but just humor me, please. I needed them to go to Miami, let me have this. 
> 
> ALSO. I did not proofread this because it was 3am when I finished and it's 4am as I'm writing this and I just wanna get it up before I go to bed - so I might do some touchups tomorrow (don't hold me to that though).
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading. I know this chap seems like the perfect way to end it, but apparently I'm gonna ignore that because I still got some stuff that needs to be added. Anyway, your support and comments mean the literal world to me. Thank you for sticking around. 
> 
> Stay safe and gesundheit


	12. A Pizza My Heart

#### 

A Pizza My Heart

_Against the Grain_  
_September 2nd_  
_4:33pm_

“No,” Kevin says with a stern shake of his head. “I’m not comfortable with that, it’s too far.” 

Connor gives him a bored look, one that he hopes lets Kevin know he’s being unreasonable. “It’s not that far.” 

“It’s far enough.” Ever as stubborn, the boy can’t bear to lose. “Can’t we just stay like this?” 

Connor groans, leaning his head against the back of the couch with just a tad too much force. “We could, but I don’t see why.” 

Kevin shrugs, his lips forming a pout that appears to be inadvertent, but Connor knows him well enough to know it is most definitely intentional. It also happens to be one of Connor’s soft spots. “I like it here,” he says, tilting his head to look at Connor as he reaches out to intertwine their fingers. He really is pulling every move, but Connor won’t budge. “Just you and me, the way we are now.” 

Connor watches him for a moment, shifts in his seat so he’s facing Kevin who has sunken down slightly on the couch, giving Connor the rare opportunity to be the taller one, and it’s cute how Kevin uses the position to make himself look smaller, as though appealing to Connor’s inability to deny him anything while appearing so innocent. But Connor knows he’s bluffing, he knows it’s a tactic, and he’s not about to give in just because Kevin is adorable. If he did that every time, he’d get absolutely nothing done. 

“But what if I want something else?” he says after a while of feigned contemplation, and Kevin instantly breaks the act with an eyeroll. 

“Connor,” he says, in a tone that’s sharp but not poisonous, and Connor can’t help but smile a little. Even if it comes out taunting. “I am not moving to Brooklyn.” 

“God, you’re so selfish,” Connor scoffs. “I’ve lived in Flatbush for almost five years.” 

“And I've lived in the Heights for almost five years,” Kevin retorts with bored eyes. “Which is why we should focus on the hard facts instead of personal preferences.” 

Connor lifts his eyebrows slightly before narrowing his eyes in suspicion. “And what exactly are those?” 

Kevin straightens in his seat, shifting positions so he’s once again a few inches taller than Connor – a quite obvious attempt at reinforcing his authority. Not that he has any, though, but he certainly likes to believe he does. “The commute from here is shorter, it’s a much better neighborhood _and_ has a parking spot, so if you run the numbers it’s probably less expensive despite the rent being a little higher,” he says, and Connor has no doubt that he has, in fact, already run the numbers. “And, most importantly, there’s a microwave.” 

“You can’t settle this with a microwave, Kevin.” 

“Fine.” Kevin rolls his eyes with an amused breath. “But I'm just saying.” 

“No, you’re not just saying, you’re making a case,” Connor chides. “Stop acting like a fucking lawyer.” 

Kevin laughs. “Just because I'm better at arguing than you are, there’s no need to get all pissy.” 

Connor throws him a side-glance and crosses his arms, if Kevin wants to call him pissy, he might just act the part. Unfortunately, this only seems to amuse Kevin, so he resorts to staring out the window before he feels Kevin’s hand in his own again. 

“Connor, come on,” Kevin says, meeting Connor’s eyes with a pout as he turns back around. “You’ve said you love this apartment.” 

Connor considers him for a moment. He isn’t sure he’s said he _loves_ the apartment, but he does know he has at least proclaimed to like it, and the thing is, he does. He just doesn’t want to live here. In an apartment where Kevin has five years' worth of memories and Connor has none, where Kevin has most likely been intimate with people other than Connor, where the walls can tell stories Connor doesn’t want to hear. He doesn’t want to compete with nostalgia, however insane it sounds. 

“Alright, how about a compromise,” he says after a moment’s silence, and Kevin’s eyes widen slightly as he encourages Connor to go on with a nod. “A new place.” 

Kevin’s eyebrows shoot up at that, his lips parting slowly as his forehead creases, and it takes a moment before he seems to regain his composure. “You wanna get a new place?” he says, watching Connor closely as he gives a few nods in response. “Do you know how much work that’ll be?” 

“I just, I don’t wanna live in a house where you’ve been with other people,” falls off his tongue before he can stop it, and Kevin briefly opens his mouth, only to shut it quite promptly soon after. His eyes are still fixed to Connor’s, and Connor isn’t sure if he’s looking for the answer within them or if he’s waiting for a further explanation. Either way, he elaborates, “I wanna do this, Kevin. For real, with you,” he says, and watches something shift in Kevin’s eyes. “Don’t you?” 

It’s silent for a moment, and it’s long enough that Connor begins to second-guess their entire relationship, but then, out of nowhere, Kevin’s lips fall open and a hurried, somewhat clumsy declaration fills the air around them. “I love you,” Kevin says, and it’s sudden and not at all the answer Connor expected, and all he can do is smile. 

“Is that a yes?” he says, instead of saying it back. Why doesn’t he say it back? 

Kevin smiles despite being left hanging, his confession a high five that Connor merely eyes. “Yeah,” he says, seemingly not that disheartened, which Connor is thankful for. “I mean, if we combine the trucks like we talked about, we could sell one of them which could cover the security deposit – as long as we stay away from the Central Park area, at least.” 

Connor smiles enthusiastically, nodding his head and shifting in his seat again. This time so he’s practically sitting on Kevin’s lap. “So,” Connor says, wrapping his arms around Kevin’s neck which elicits a soft laugh from his otherwise bemused expression. “Where should we move to?” 

Kevin thinks for a moment, watching Connor’s lips as he does so before lifting his eyes to lock them with Connor’s. “What about Inwood?” 

Connor’s smile instantly drops. “Inwood is practically Washington Heights,” he says and Kevin rolls his eyes. “What about Bed-Stuy?” 

Kevin mirrors his exact expression. “Bed-Stuy is practically Flatbush.” And apparently his words, too. 

Connor returns the lack of originality by copying Kevin’s eye roll, and then they’re sat in that pointless stare down for way longer than is necessary. 

Connor is the one to break the silence. “Alright,” he says, and before Kevin can assume he’s giving in, he adds, “What about Greenwich Village?” 

Kevin purses his lips. “We don’t have that kinda money, Connor.” 

“There are some places that aren’t that expensive. When Naba and I were apartment hunting we were considering a listing there,” Connor says, watching Kevin mull it over. “Besides… It’s right by Union Square.” 

Kevin narrows his eyes slightly before a surprised laugh escapes his lungs, and he leans forward with a smile, whispering, “We’ll look into it,” against Connor’s lips, and really, that’s enough. 

Connor would be lying if he said he wouldn’t move anywhere as long as it was with Kevin. Well, anywhere but Washington Heights, at least. Regardless of how much he adores the musical, this was simply a matter of principle. 

The kiss is soon interrupted, though, and Connor nearly has a heart attack when a voice suddenly says, “That was really beautiful, guys.” 

They both turn around instantaneously, nearly giving Connor whiplash as he breathes out an, “Oh my god,” at the sight of Arnold. 

“Jesus Christ, Arn, how long have you been here?” Kevin says, sounding equally as caught off guard. 

“What?” Arnold laughs, his bemused smile soon turns a frown when neither Kevin nor Connor joins in. “I’ve literally been here the entire time, are you kidding me?” 

Connor can barely react before another voice chimes in. 

“Did you seriously forget we were in the room?” Naba says and Connor nearly loses his shit. 

“Can everyone stop giving me heart attacks?” 

“We were in the middle of a conversation when you two just started arguing,” Arnold says, and it takes him a moment, but then Connor suddenly remembers he’s right. 

A laugh bubbles out of him as it seems to dawn on Kevin as well. “Oh yeah,” Kevin says with a smile, looking over to Connor who’s still struggling to keep from laughing. 

“Oh, and by the way, thanks for considering _our_ opinion on where _we’d_ like to live,” Naba says while crossing her arms. “Lest you’d forgotten, we have a say in things, too. We’re not just here to push your story along.” 

Arnold nods, an enthused smile spreading across his face. “What she said, but also, _you guys_ ,” he says, placing his hands on his cheeks and squeezing them together, sort of like a grandma does to her grandkids, only in this instant, Arnold is both squeezer and squeezee. It’s both amusing and cute, which feels equal parts in and out of character for Arnold. “I’m happy to push your story along.” 

Naba rolls her eyes, throwing him a glance and a warning. “Arnold.” 

“Right. Your relationship means a normal amount to me,” he says, making Kevin snort. 

“I really want to believe that,” he says while Arnold gives Naba a sheepish grin and she seems unable to resist the smile that twists her lips upward. “So, where are you gonna live?” 

“Oh, definitely here,” Naba says without the slightest hint of hesitation. 

“What?” Connor’s jaw falls open in an offended gasp. “Naba, you’re just gonna abandon Flatbush?” 

She tilts her head to the side, turning the corners of her lips down in a pout before smiling again. “Oh, Connor,” she says, in what sounds to Connor like amused pity. He doesn’t care for it much at all. “Yes. I want a microwave – I _deserve_ a microwave.” 

Connor shakes his head in disbelief but knows it’s pointless to argue. Perhaps that’s just the way it goes, life moves on and people simply move. A home is more than a house, and no matter what happens, whether he and Naba live together or apart, they’ll always be family, and he knows he’ll always have a second home by her side. That sentiment is of course returned with compassion to spare. 

It’s scary, though. Moving on, starting a new chapter of his life. A chapter he’s incredibly excited to start, one he’s been looking forward to for longer than he thinks he’s even known. A chapter with Kevin, however strange it feels put in words. He’s never lived with a boyfriend before, has never dated anyone long enough to even consider it, and it’s terrifying and thrilling all the same. Not that he and Kevin have been dating that long either, yet it feels so different – so _real_. It’s a feeling he can’t quite explain, most things with Kevin usually are. 

He’ll come to terms with everything eventually. Leaving Flatbush, leaving Naba, leaving the comfort of romantic independence. They’ll get over the nerves together, learn to live with each other’s faults and the strange, exhilarating notion that this is their prize, After all those months of playing baseless games of cat and mouse, push and pull, they both came out the winner. Or perhaps they both lost, perhaps it’s a tie. Regardless, it feels like a victory in all the ways that matter. 

After a while of silence – a while of Connor tending to his thoughts while mindlessly playing with Kevin’s hand, still tangled with his own – Arnold turns back to them and catches both of their attention. 

“So,” he says, his gaze alternating between the two of them as a small smile plays on his lips. “Whose truck are you keeping?” 

“Mine,” comes the response. From both Kevin and Connor. Simultaneously. 

They lock eyes instantly, Connor narrowing his and Kevin responding with an apt eye-roll. 

Before either of them can say anything, Naba lets out a deep sigh, turning to Arnold with a pungent, “Nicely done, Arn. That’s another forty minutes of our lives, wasted.” 

“Have some faith, Naba,” Arnold replies, and Connor can feel his eyes on him but pays them no attention. Kevin doesn’t either. “Guys, you’re not gonna argue about tha-“ 

“Why the fuck would we keep your truck? We’ve had sex in it so many times, it would be a health hazard.” 

Connot scowls. “At least mine doesn’t look like it was put together by a child. I am not working in something that has less taste than any movie character played by Adam Sandler.” 

Naba clears her throat but both Kevin and Connor are still too busy staring holes through each other's heads to care. “You were saying?” she says, assumably to Arnold, who responds with a, “I stand corrected,” before Connor hears a door open and close. 

“You coulda just said Adam Sandler, you know,” Kevin says, eyes amused. “He clearly doesn’t go through much of a wardrobe fitting for any role.” 

“So you agree your truck looks like dogshit,” Connor triumphs and Kevin rolls his eyes. 

“The exterior is cheaper to fix than the interior anyway,” he says. “Besides, if we’re gonna stick with pizza, it only makes sense that we keep the truck already equipped for it.” 

“Vegan pizza,” Connor promptly corrects, because clearly, that’s the most important aspect of this conversation. 

“Whatever,” Kevin says, stifling a laugh that results in the most strained smile Connor has ever seen. It is, needless to say, very difficult not to kiss him right then and there. “Can we just agree that we’re keeping mine so we can have a quickie before Arnold and Naba get back?” 

Before Connor can so much as open his mouth to answer, Arnold’s bedroom door swings open with a, “We’re still in the apartment, you fucking knuckleheads,” from Naba and a cackle from Arnold, and this time, Kevin lets his laughter out and Connor soon joins in.

* * *

_Against the Grain_  
_September 19th_  
_8:41pm_

It’s been just over two weeks since they decided, and finding an apartment had been easier than either had expected. It isn’t much, a cramped one-bedroom on Christopher Street, only a few blocks from Union Square. It makes sense that’s where they end up, considering it’s where it all began. A nice sentiment to an otherwise ridiculous story. If anything, it’ll suffice as an anecdote. 

Arnold had decided that the sudden changes to their group dynamic were cause for celebration, and they once again find themselves back at Tony’s. Connor’s favorite restaurant, and another place that holds such strange meaning these days. Believe it or not, Connor had never blown a guy in a public restroom before that night with Kevin, and as exciting as it was, it’s nothing he’s planning on ever doing again. 

Besides, he doesn’t have to now. He gets to hold Kevin’s hand just as Arnold does Naba’s. He gets to lean his head against Kevin’s shoulder, whisper sweet nothings, and not have to worry about being caught. He gets to be in love. 

_Fuck_. He really is, isn’t he? 

But the good thing is, Kevin seems to be quite far gone, too. 

“Here’s to growing up,” Arnold says, raising his glass of the cheapest wine the bar had to offer, and Connor, Kevin, and Naba all follow suit. “Took us twenty-seven years but hey, we’re here now. Soon enough we’ll be begging to be kids again. Life’s funny that way, huh?” 

“This is hardly the time to get that profound,” Kevin says, downing the rest of his wine before slamming – although carefully, it’s cute – the glass back down on the table. “Let’s just get wasted. We may have grown up but I can assure you all, we’re still dumb as shit.” 

“That I can drink to,” Naba says, clinking her glass against Kevin’s and they share a smile that, for some reason, warms Connor’s heart just a little. Maybe it’s because Kevin and Naba are the two out of the four of them who never really spent time together outside the group, or maybe it’s simply the idea of Connor’s best friend and his boyfriend getting along. Regardless, he can’t help but smile with them and joins their glasses with his own. 

“To being young and stupid,” he says, and Kevin nods in agreement. “For one last night.” 

And dear god, do they stick to it. 

Two hours and two bottles of wine later, they’re still sat at the same table in the far back, talking, drinking, laughing, and it’s dumb, on the border of disrespectful, really, that they don’t leave to get drunk at some bar, but Connor can’t find it in himself to care. They’re not being that big a nuisance, they’ve only gotten _a few_ looks from other customers, and each time, Arnold has let out a very indiscreet _shhh_ that honestly does more damage than good, but Naba manages to keep them all in check. 

It isn’t until Arnold gets a text that shit really starts to derail, as he reads it several times before looking up, his gaze wandering between the three of them waiting in suspense. “Hawthorne is in,” he simply says, and in that moment, Connor almost believes the message had sobered him up. 

“Wait, seriously?” Naba says, watching him with focused eyes. “You’re not fucking?” 

“I’m not fucking, look.” He holds his phone out to her, and she squints as she grabs his arm to hold it in place. 

“Oh my god, he’s not fucking – Connor, we’re gonna get _paid_!” 

Connor nearly shrieks but stops himself last second by slapping a hand over his mouth, gesturing for Arnold to hand the phone over. He can’t believe his eyes but it’s true. Affirmative, a done deal, ready set showtime. 

The only person not buzzing with excitement is Kevin, and he stares into his empty wine glass as he says, “So, you’re going to Miami?” and three heads instantly turn to look at him. Connor would be lying if he said his heart doesn’t break a little at the sheer sadness in his tone, but he reaches out to grab Kevin’s hand and for a brief second, he can see Kevin’s eyes flutter shut and he isn’t sure if it’s good or bad. 

“He didn’t say,” Arnold says, reaching to grab the phone back from Connor and reading the text again. “I think.” 

“Whatever happens, nothing’s gonna change,” Connor tries, but he can tell Kevin doesn’t quite believe him. 

“We’re moving _tomorrow_ , Connor,” he replies, chewing the inside of his cheek as he avoids meeting Connor’s eyes. 

“I know, and it’s all gonna work out, just belie-” 

“Wait,” Arnold interjects, earning their attention as he holds a finger in the air to keep them all in suspense. “He’s typing.” 

“Did you text him back?” Naba says, grabbing the phone from his hand with a groan. “You’re drunk, Arnold. You can’t spell when you’re drunk.” 

“I can too,” Arnold protests, receiving a bored look from Naba that he responds with a shrug. “What did I write?” 

“ _Muy guy, that’s amazebells. Are we moooving shit to Flor Ida_ – that's two words – _or are you coming ot New Yurk_?” she reads aloud and the table erupts in laughter, Arnold included. “Arnold, you realize this guy is practically your _boss_ now, right? You shouldn’t be texting him this pissed.” 

“I’m not pissed,” Arnold says to which Naba cocks an eyebrow and waits for Arnold to put two and two together by himself. It takes a minute. “Oh, you mean drunk, yeah. That’s probably right, oops.” 

The phone dings before Naba can retort, and Connor can tell by the way her eyes light up that it’s most likely good news. 

“ _I assume you mean New York, which seems more suited for your play considering it’s already gotten some heat over there. I’ll be joining you later this fall, call me when you sober up tomorrow and we’ll talk logistics. Glad to see you’re already celebrating. Have a good one and take it easy_ ,” she says, her smile spreading to the rest of the table within seconds. 

“So, you’re not going to Miami?” Kevin says, his eyes fixed to Connor while Naba answers. 

“Doesn’t seem like it,” she says, and there’s a twinkle in Kevin’s eyes that makes him look as though he’d been on the brink of tears. 

“Told you,” Connor says, only reveling a little as Kevin responds with a quiet scoff that’s anything but annoyed. “Nothing’s gonna change.” 

“Well, some things are,” Kevin says. “We’ll be living together, for one.” 

He’s known for a week, mainly because he’s spent the entire seven days packing, yet it still hits him with full force, and he can’t help but smile. He’ll be living with Kevin; Kevin will be living with him. Their home will be one and the same, more than an apartment. They’ll go to sleep in a bed that’s theirs together, wake up next to each other, go to work, come home, live, all in a place of their own. The comfort of never being alone again – _god_ , he hopes he won’t have to be alone again. He wants to share every part of himself with Kevin and he’s both terrified and ecstatic. It’s like riding a rollercoaster, only the rush lasts more than a few minutes. Connor is afraid – or perhaps glad – it's going to last years. 

“Let’s spend the night in Flatbush,” he says after a beat, realizing he’s been quiet for far too long. 

Kevin screws up his face. “What, why?” 

“It’s my last chance to live there, our lease is up tomorrow,” Connor says, trying his best at a pout but knows that Kevin can see right through it. “Besides, you’ve only spent, like, two nights there.” 

“What about-” 

“We’ll stay at _our_ place, thank you very much,” Naba interrupts, emphasizing the fact that technically, Kevin’s apartment is now her and Arnold’s. As if tomorrow, anyway. 

“You’ll still have the Heights through them,” Connor says, pulling on Kevin’s sleeve as if that would make him agree faster. “Please.” 

Kevin sighs, rolls his eyes, and clicks his tongue, but he gives in. “Don’t say I never do anything nice for you.” 

Connor laughs. “And what a martyr you are. Joan of Arc pales in comparison.” 

Kevin leans forward, close enough that their noses brush together. “Fuck off,” he whispers against Connor’s lips, and they would have kissed if it weren’t for Arnold squealing across the table, but it doesn’t matter. Connor got what he wanted. Kevin, the play, saying goodbye to his apartment. All of it, really.

* * *

_Slice of Life_  
_September 19th_  
_11:45pm_

It’s almost midnight when they make it back to East Flatbush. Connor barely makes it past the door before he unpacks the takeout they picked up on their way there, and he sinks into the couch with a content sigh. The place is a mess, carboard boxes spread out across the floor, only the bigger furniture remains unpacked. Not that Kevin’s apartment is much better, but at least it’s only his stuff that’s being moved and, weird as it is to think about, replaced by Naba’s. 

He joins Connor on the couch, grabbing some of his fries which results in a very angry glare that’s not intimidating in the slightest, however hard he tries. It’s only been six weeks since they officially started dating. Six more since they started hooking up, and sure, moving in together this soon might not sound like the best idea but it makes sense, somehow. Whether it’s the fact that they’ve known each other for much longer, or maybe just the way everything clicks, Kevin isn’t sure. He’s just glad it’s happening. Well, glad and nervous, scared Connor will grow sick of him in a few months, but he tries not to think about that too much. 

“Tell me something,” he says after a while of eating in silence, and Connor looks up at him, mouth full and eyes wide. “Something I don’t know about this place.” 

Connor doesn’t swallow before saying, “Why?” and Kevin is surprised that he barely feels compelled to berate him for talking with food in his mouth. 

“Because there’s gotta be more to this place than the lack of a microwave if you’re this attached to it,” Kevin says, shifting in his seat, tucking his legs under his body, so he’s facing Connor. “Tell me a story.” 

Connor watches him for a moment, then looks down at his veggie burger, and then up again. “I’m eating.” 

Kevin rolls his eyes. “You can talk in-between bites.” 

Connor sighs. “Fine,” he says, taking another way-too-huge bite – which Kevin is sure is only to spite him – as he thinks. “I broke the microwave.” 

“I know that, dumbass,” Kevin says through a groan that seems to delight Connor more than he wants it to. “Tell me something I don’t know.” 

Connor looks away while he chews, eyebrows knitted in thought before he turns back with a casual smile. “I jerked off to the thought of almost kissing you that night you got beat up.” 

Kevin snorts, nearly choking on his diet coke. “Jesus Christ, Connor, that’s disgusting,” he says, and Connor warns him with both a glare and a light shove as Kevin laughs, before he settles again, the smile on his face turning slightly abashed, and he can feel his cheeks heat up as he confesses to the same crime. “So did I.” 

He expects a scowl, or a death-glare, or a scoff, but Connor does none of those things. He simply smiles, takes another bite, and says, “Hypocrite,” with stuffed cheeks. 

Kevin leans back on the couch. He’s barely touched his food. For some reason, he doesn’t have an appetite. Maybe he’s more nervous than he’s letting on. It is quite a big step, after all. To be perfectly candid, it’s a huge step, especially considering they skipped so many others when they started this whole thing. Their first kiss was a dare. Their first time happened on a whim in the back of a truck. Their first date wasn’t really a date. Or perhaps it was, only neither dared to say it out loud. It isn’t the ideal start of a budding romance, but it’s gotten them this far. He no longer has a game to play, a war to fight, no. All that remains now is not fucking things up. Whatever mistakes he’s made in the past, whatever stupid things he’s said or decisions he’s made, none of that matters. He only has to make sure history doesn’t repeat itself. 

“How many guys have you dated?” he finds himself asking after a while, and Connor seems as surprised by the question as Kevin feels. 

“Why do you ask?” 

“I don’t know,” he says with a shrug, gesturing to nothing in particular. “How many guys have you brought here?” 

“Well, those are two very varying numbers,” Connor says, smiling dumbly before reconsidering. “Maybe not very, but, you know, a bit.” 

Kevin lifts his eyebrows ever so slightly. He isn’t sure what he expected, and to be honest, he isn’t sure why he even asked. It doesn’t matter, really, but it feels better knowing. Maybe. “So, how many?” 

Connor thinks for a moment. Kevin watches his eyes go blank as he does so. “I’ve dated three guys in the last, five years or so,” he says, looking back at Kevin with a small shrug. “And I've brought, I don’t know, a handful of guys here. Not at the same time, though.” 

Kevin laughs quietly but doesn’t answer. 

So Connor sends the question back his way. “What about you?” Connor says, nudging him with his elbow and wiggling his eyebrows ridiculously. “How many guys have you dated?” 

Kevin rolls his eyes but smiles regardless. “Well, if we’re talking _dated_ dated, there’s really just the one.” 

Connor smiles when Kevin meets his eyes. “He musta been quite special, then.” 

“Not really,” Kevin says, turning away again as he takes a deeper-than-intended breath. “He, uh. I guess he did quite a number on me.” 

Connor is silent for a moment, before speaking a quiet, “How?” 

“Um, well, okay. There was this guy, Richard, that I dated for a while. I met him when I was working at Crystal’s and it was great, really. He was just so, different, you know. He was older, and mature, and worldly,” he says, the memory playing before his eyes, and it nearly makes him smile for a brief moment before he remembers it isn’t a particularly good one. “I fell pretty hard, I guess. Like ridiculously so, but I felt comfortable with him. I opened up, which I'm sure you of all people know is easier said than done for me, and um,” he pauses, eyes going blank as the room around him fades away and he’s transported back in time. “And then I found out he was married. To a woman.” 

“Oh,” is all he gets in response. 

“Yeah. They lived in Jersey but he worked in the city, which is why he had an apartment there,” he says, shaking his head with a quiet laugh. “We dated for nine fucking months and I never even noticed. And dumb as I was, when I found out, I gave him an ultimatum.” He turns his head back to Connor, who is watching with cautious eyes. “Whoda thought he’d pick his wife, huh.” 

Connor frowns. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” Kevin says, trying his best at a smile and it seems to do the trick, if only a little, as Connor smiles back. 

“I hope his nickname was Dick,” he says, taking a sip of his drink as Kevin laughs through his nose. 

“It was Richie.” 

Connor nearly spits the soda out but manages to keep his mouth shut as he laughs, swallows once he’s calmed down, and wrinkles his nose. “That’s worse,” he says, and follows does a very drunken, very adorable hiccup that Kevin is sure is going to last the entire night. 

“After that, I didn’t really date. At least not beyond hooking up, you know,” he says, aware that the smile on his face is melancholic if anything, but it doesn’t bug him all that much. “It’s such a dumb thing to get trust issues from, but, yeah.” 

Connor considers him for a moment, chewing on his straw as he holds Kevin’s gaze with curious eyes. “Do you trust me?” he says, and it sounds so genuinely wondering that Kevin nearly laughs. 

Instead, he nods. “Yeah.” 

“I wanna tell you something,” Connor says then, moving so he’s sat cross-legged, facing Kevin as he puts his drink back on the table. “You told me seventeen days ago and I've been thinking about it ever since.” 

Kevin’s eyes narrow by reflex as he searches Connor’s face. “What?” 

“I, okay. I wanted to say it when you did but then I didn’t and every time I think I'm about to do it, I second-guess everything and it just feels weird and forced and I want it to be real. I want you to believe me,” he says, or rather rambles, and it’s quite difficult to follow but Kevin thinks he’s caught on. “I don’t wanna say it like this but I'm feeling oddly confident, you can thank the wine for that.” 

Kevin laughs. “Bless the wine.” 

“Okay,” Connor says, shifting in his seat again, as though trying to get comfortable, and Kevin only watches in silence as Connor clears his throat. “Okay, um. I... Um.” 

“You don’t have to-” 

Connor waves a hand in Kevin’s face. “Shut up. Shut up, shut your face, I wanna do this, it’s just – it's weird when you know it’s coming, you know,” he says, taking a deep breath as his eyes shift between Kevin’s, and then he says, with a determined voice that sounds on the verge of monotone, “I love you,” but it still manages to blow Kevin’s mind. 

He doesn’t say anything. Honestly, he isn’t sure what to say, so he just watches Connor in awe but realizes soon that it might have sent him the wrong message. 

“Fuck, that was terrible, oh my god,” Connor says, falling on his back on the couch and hiding his face in his hands. “Why can’t I say it naturally, why do I sound so fucking stiff.” 

Kevin nudges one of Connor’s hands away from his face and pulls on it until Connor sits back up. “It doesn’t matter,” he says, trying to sound as convincing as possible as he intertwines their fingers. “I already know.” 

He doesn’t, _really_ , because Kevin never truly trusts that anyone could care for him that much. He doesn’t tell Connor that, though. 

“I blew it,” Connor says, slumping in his seat regardless of Kevin shaking his head in response. “I shoulda told you better, like a movie. You want something better like a movie.” 

Kevin keeps shaking his head as though it will suddenly become clear that he disagrees. “I don’t care,” he says, turning Connor’s face toward his with his hand, and it’s almost painful, seeing as Connor still doesn’t quite believe him. “I want you.” 

But then, the left corner of Connor’s mouth twitches upward into a small smile that lights up the entire goddamn room. “Even when I'm a lil drunk?” 

Kevin laughs. “All the time,” he says. “Drunk, high, stupid. Doesn’t matter.” 

Connor watches him for a moment, and Kevin notices the way his eyes drift down to his lips. He isn’t sure why – actually, that is pure bullshit, he knows exactly why he parts his lips ever so slightly, and it is to see the reaction on Connor’s face. 

And as always, the sight does not disappoint. 

“Can you do me a favor?” Connor says as his eyes flick back up to meet Kevin’s. 

“What?” he says, and Connor bites his lip. 

“I always wanted to have sex in the kitchen.” 

Kevin snorts. That is definitely not what he expected to hear. “Is that the reason you wanted to stay the night here?” 

Connor shrugs. “Part of it.” 

Kevin tilts his head to the side, searching Connor’s face for he isn’t sure what. Consent, maybe. Permission, despite Connor being the one who brought it up. Kevin is ostensibly more sober than Connor and he doesn’t want to do anything if Connor can’t, for lack of a better term, think straight. “Are you sure?” he says, watching Connor’s gaze move between his eyes and his lips as he gives a small nod. “You look so tired.” 

Connor sighs, and it is deliberately loud, Kevin is sure. “Wake me up, then,” he says, leaning forward, eyes dangerous and hell, if Kevin could ever resist that look, this wasn’t the time to find out. “Please.” 

He can’t answer before Connor’s lips are pressing against his own and he sighs into the kiss. “You’re lucky I love you,” he says, and Connor groans into his mouth. 

“How do you say it so naturally, it’s not fair.” 

Kevin laughs. “How about you tell me,” he says, pulling away long enough to nod his head toward the kitchen, “in there.” 

Connor smiles, seemingly less tired as he’s about to get on his feet before he stops, turning back to look at him with lust clouding his eyes. “Kevin?” he says, or maybe asks, Kevin isn’t sure but he hums in response, either way. “Can you fuck me this time?” 

And then there’s suddenly no question about it. No hesitation or reluctance, not that there ever really was, but good lord, if that doesn’t send him absolutely reeling. 

“Okay, get up,” he says hurriedly, as he stands up and pulls on Connor’s hand to do the same. Once they’re on their feet, he gestures for Connor to jump because he has no damn patience anymore. He can’t wait, not a second. “Up.” 

Connor complies, wrapping his legs around Kevin’s waist as he catches him, and he begins kissing a trail down Kevin’s neck as he carries him into the kitchen. Setting him down on the counter, he wastes no time – except for the brief minute it takes him to find Connor’s lube and a condom – and he’s never been the biggest fan of doing it in a standing position, but thankfully, Connor’s face is a perfect distraction. 

And god knows, it’s worth it. 

Thirty minutes later, they’re lying in Connor’s bed. Their clothes a messy heap on the floor and the duvet tousled between them. It’s quiet and calm and absolutely perfect. Even though Kevin’s been throwing that word around a tad too often lately. It doesn’t make it any less true; if this isn’t perfection, he’s very intrigued as to what is. 

Connor is resting his head on Kevin’s chest, curled up against his side as Kevin strokes a lazy hand up and down his back. He can feel Connor’s breath against his skin, feel his pulse echo through his bones, and it feels surprisingly familiar, and simultaneously so strange. So foreign. The way things shifted so fast, so suddenly, but then again, they had both wanted it way before it actually happened. Twelve weeks ago, they kissed, and now here they are. 

It’s funny how things work out sometimes. 

“Oh my god,” Connor suddenly says, and Kevin almost has a heart attack. 

“What?” he pants, worried he’s done something or thar Connor has gotten a sudden change of heart. 

“I just realized when we live together, we can do that all the time,” he says, tilting his head so he can meet Kevin’s eyes, staring confoundedly at him. “We can have kitchen sex all the time.” 

Kevin refrains from wincing and settles for wrinkling his nose with a laugh instead. “Well, let’s not limit our choices.” 

“Mm,” Connor hums against his chest. “Shower sex.” 

“We’re gonna share a bed and the first places you can think of is the kitchen and the shower.” 

“Right,” Connor laughs, lifting his head and supporting it with his hand as he looks Kevin up and down. “A bed. With bedposts,” he says, slowly letting his eyes travel back to Kevin’s face. “I can finally tie you up to your heart’s content.” 

“Don’t,” Kevin says, a sharp warning in the form of a stare that makes Connor giggle. 

“What?” 

“I am way too tired for a second round and you saying things like that isn’t gonna help.” 

Connor pouts but concedes eventually, still, he doesn’t lie back down but continues watching Kevin. It’s difficult to ignore, but Kevin has no complaints about staring at Connor McKinley for hours on end. 

“We still have to pick a name,” Connor says after god knows how long, and Kevin’s brows knit together in confusion. 

“For what?” 

“The truck,” Connor says, shrugging with one shoulder. 

Kevin smiles. “You mean my truck?” 

“ _Our_ truck,” Connor emphasizes with a pointed look. “And that’s only because you jizzed all over mine.” 

Kevin laughs. “Alright,” he says, eyes curious. “What do we name it, then?” 

“We should do that thing, you know that thing where people put their names together when they start dating, like we would be... Kevnor, wait no, Conin?” Connor says, seeming to confuse himself as much as he does Kevin. 

“That sounds like a Russian dictator.” 

Connor sticks his tongue out. “Point is, we could do that, combine our names,” he says. “Against the Slice. No, Slice of Grain – Grain of life?” 

“Yeah, ‘cause that screams good food.” 

Connor sighs, falling back on the bed and staring at the ceiling. “I don’t know,” he groans, and Kevin would laugh if it weren’t for a very sudden, very odd thought crossing his mind. 

“What about ‘A Pizza My Heart’?” Connor rolls to his side again, propping himself up on his elbow and staring at Kevin through narrowed eyes. “Get it? It’s like a _piece_ of my heart, but we sell pizza. So.” 

Connor just keeps staring, and Kevin can feel his cheeks start to burn bright pink when he finally answers. “Did you just make a pun?” 

Kevin winces. “Regretfully, yeah.” 

“I’m not gonna lie,” Connor says, his eyes now widened and fixed to Kevin’s. “That really turned me on.” 

Kevin lets out an amused breath. And then he realizes Connor isn’t kidding. “Puns turn you on?” 

“More than anything,” Connor says, and suddenly he’s on top of Kevin, their lips crashing together in perfect dissonance, and Kevin can’t help but laugh. Connor shuts him up with his tongue before pulling back long enough to say, “We’re going for a second round, like it or not.” 

“Connor,” Kevin says, through what sounds like equal parts a laugh and a moan, but Connor’s hands on his skin are enough to wake him up. “You’re so weird. All this for a fucking a pun.” 

Connor pulls back, legs on either side of Kevin’s hips and his hands on either side of his head. “You don’t get it,” he says. “Puns do to me what me wearing an Aladdin costume would to you.” 

Kevin smiles. “You wearing an Aladdin costume would be cultural appropriation.” 

“You know what,” Connor says, rolling his eyes with a hint of a smile as he lifts one leg to roll off Kevin. “I’m good.” 

Kevin pulls him back on top of him, and he doesn’t miss the small laugh that escapes his lips as he does so. “Uh-uh, fair is fair. I fucked you in the kitchen,” he says, reaching over the side of the bed, blindly searching for something in the pile of clothes on the floor until he finds it, retreating his hand slowly as he watches Connor watch the movement. “This would make it... a tie.” 

Connor’s eyes flick back to his as he holds the tie out to Connor, and he watches them double in size as Connor breathes out, “I just came.” 

“Shut up,” Kevin laughs, and Connor delivers. 

Now, not to sound hyperbolic, but if this isn’t perfection, then it sure as hell must at least be heaven.

* * *

_Against the Grain_  
_September 20th_  
_1:02pm_

The place is a right mess, that’s safe to say. He and Naba have been running around all morning, packing up the last couple of things, quarreling over who gets what and what rightfully belongs to whom, which leads to the two of them doubling over with laughter, which in turn leads to them realizing this is the last time they’ll ever double over with laughter in this apartment, which then leads to crying. And on it goes. 

It’s weird and nostalgic and insanely sentimental, but it feels... okay. There’s some sort of mutual understanding hanging in the air rather than being spoken, that this is not, by any means, the end of their friendship. Friends don’t have to live together to be friends, regardless of what the tv show seems to imply. This is both of them growing up, together yet apart, for better and for good. 

Connor feels incredibly urged to break into the Gershwin Theatre and perform the best suited Wicked song – oh, wait, that’s Glee. Wrong story. 

“Oh my god, remember this notch?” Naba says then, pulling Connor back to reality. “The one you made when trying to do the run-up-the-wall flip from _Make ‘Em Laugh_?” 

Connor winces at the memory. “I remember the notch it made in my back when I failed a lot more, thank you.” 

Naba laughs. “Serves you right,” she says, inspecting the wall where their TV used to hang. “You don’t have to recreate every scene from _Singin’ in the Rain_ , you know that, right?” 

“But it’s fun,” Connor fakes a pout, and Naba waves her hand in his general direction. “Neither of us is ever gonna get the chance to do that again, probably. What, with Arnold and Kevin as roommates? Our lives won’t be a musical ever again, better enjoy it while it lasts.” 

Naba twists her face in a pout similar to Connor’s before smiling again. “Okay, that does it,” she says with conviction. “You’re coming over to my place every time Arnold is out of town, and I come to yours when Kevin is. We need sing-along sleepovers or I might actually die.” 

Connor laughs but nods his head eagerly. “It’s a deal,” he says, holding his hand out and it’s weird, but Naba shakes it regardless and they know then, that no matter what, they’ll still have this. They’ll still have their memories, musicals, theatre, stupid conversations about West Side Story and how yes-Tony-and-Maria-are-cute-but-Riff-and-Bernardo-would-make-for-the-perfect-enemies-to-lovers-trope that neither Arnold nor Kevin would ever understand. They come close but it isn’t the same, and Connor considers for what feels like the first time, that perhaps, that’s a good thing. He doesn’t want him and Kevin to be like him and Naba, and he doesn’t want him and Naba to be like Naba and Arnold. 

Why is it that the smallest of changes cause such strong emotions? It really isn’t fair. 

Half an hour later, they’re finished packing and sat leaning against the wall of their now-empty living room. Connor nearly cries. 

“Why is this so hard?” he asks, in lieu of tears, and Naba turns to him with sympathetic eyes. 

“Because we’re practically saying goodbye to our third roommate,” Naba says, waving a simultaneously dramatic and lazy hand in the air in front of them. “The actual room.” 

Connor laughs through his nose, which is gross because he’s spent the last couple of hours crying and there is definitely snot coming out along with the air. “A room can’t have feelings.” 

“Well, it might not be able to exhibit them, but it can still convey them,” Naba says, the smile on her face turning almost teasing. “Carry them, allow them to linger in notches in the wall or wine stains on the floor.” 

“Hey, that last one’s on you,” Connor points out and Naba laughs, the sound softly bouncing off the cold, naked walls around them. 

“We’ll create new memories. New notches and new wine stains,” she says, turning back to look at him with sentimental eyes. “Things will change, but it’s what we want, right?” 

Connor thinks for a moment. “Is it?” 

Naba frowns. “Do you not wanna move in with Kevin?” 

“No, of course, I do. Like, stupid much, but,” he says, turning his head forward, staring through the window on the other end of the room and watches the cloud drift across the sky for a moment. “I’m still scared, you know.” 

He can see Naba follow his gaze through the corner of his eye, as she leans her head back against the wall and sighs. “Me too.” 

And then they sit there for a while, in silence, drinking in the last memories before they fade away. 

“I think it’s natural, though,” Naba says after a few moments, and Connor turns to look at her as she continues. “It’s like leaving the nest. Wasn’t it the hardest thing you’ve ever done, moving away from home for the first time?” 

Connor thinks about it. In a way, it was, sure, but in another, it was the most liberating thing he’s ever done, too. The first place he lived after his childhood home was Orlando, and it’s the place he first allowed himself to be, well, him. It’s the first place he kissed a boy without feeling a pang of guilt, the first place he, sort of, partook in a Pride parade, even if it was just by standing on the sidewalk and watching. In a way, it felt like it was the first time he ever really lived, but he’d be lying if he said it hadn’t been hard. 

When he doesn’t answer, Naba goes on. “Leaving Baba was the scariest thing I ever did,” she says. “I mean, I knew I was chasing my dreams and I was _so_ excited, yet I just kept crying. Days on end. And then I met you.” 

Connor looks at her, and she meets his eyes with the sort of familiarity and honesty he’s grown used to getting from her. He doesn’t know what to say – wishes he could say anything half as comforting as she is, but can’t even get a single word past his lips. 

“And we bonded over how much living in dorms sucked, and after a while I just... forgot. Forgot that I was hundreds, if not thousands of miles away from comfort. Because I found it in you,” she says, nudging him with her elbow as he returns her smile with what he’s sure is more melancholy than reassurance. Still, her eyes seem to match the emotions in his chest, and he wouldn’t be surprised if they both burst into tears right then and there. They don’t. At least not yet, and she tilts her head slightly to the side as she says, “You’re gonna find it in Kevin.” 

Connor knows she’s right, still he can’t help but ask. “You think so?” 

Naba smiles. “I think you already have.” 

Connor shakes his head with a quiet laugh. “How are you always this wise?” 

“Well, I am my mother’s daughter,” she says, her smile growing wider again. “She always used to tell me about this _magical place_ , you know. And sure, the last time she told me I was six, and she definitely catered the story to my six-year-old senses, but I realized, a couple of years after she died, that that place was about more than unicorns and waterfalls.” 

Connor lifts his eyebrows slightly, silently encouraging her to go on. 

“That place doesn’t have to be a physical one,” she says, bumping their shoulders together. “It’s about finding comfort and happiness and paradise in ourselves and the people we choose to love.” 

Connor looks at her, suddenly reminded of something Naba had told him years ago, before they even moved in together. “Home isn’t a place, it’s a feeling,” he recites, and Naba smiles. 

“Exactly,” she says, pulling Connor in for a hug then, and something in him mends and breaks all at once, as Naba holds him close. Connor can tell by a few sniffles she’s crying too. “You’ll always be home to me.” 

Connor pulls back and takes her hands in his as they sit there, crying, smiling, all snotty and gross, but in a way that isn’t awkward or embarrassing, because it’s them. And Connor lets out an airy laugh as he wipes his nose with his sleeve, making a mental note to change into literally anything else before they leave. 

“Ditto,” he says and knows Naba understands he can’t put his feelings into words at this moment, and she returns his smile with warmth and compassion to spare.

* * *

_Slice of Life_  
_September 20th_  
_1:12pm_

This is it. His very last day in his and Arnold’s apartment. Sure, he’d be back, since Arnold and Naba are keeping it but it won’t be the same. This is the last time he’ll be standing where he is right now, in a now-empty room he used to call his own. God knows what it’ll be used for once he moves. 

Probably a guestroom, but still. Kevin feels like he’s earned the right to be skeptical. 

There are so many memories imprinted in these walls, and it’s proving itself tougher than he thought, leaving it all behind. He wants to move in with Connor, he really does. But this has, sort of, become the first home he’s ever felt fully comfortable in. His childhood home in Utah was nice but is now distant, and when he thinks back, it had always been slightly off. He loves his family, loves his brother, but it feels a lot more like a house than a home. A place he just spent a lot of time in, not one where he has any significant roots anymore. The place he and Arnold first moved to after their mission hadn’t been much of a home, either. It was tiny and claustrophobic, too much and too little all at once, and even though he loves Arnold and feels more comfortable with him than he does his own family, he is a lot to live with, especially when they had to share a bedroom. He honestly doesn’t know how Naba does it, but he’s glad Arnold has someone looking out for him. And Arnold is doubtlessly happy Kevin does, too. 

Feeling sentimental, he makes for the door and heads toward Arnold’s room. However, right as he makes it past the threshold, he stops, at the sound of Arnold reading something aloud. He’s sat at his desk facing the opposite wall, leaning on an elbow as he recites something Kevin assumes he’s written, and he stands there for a moment, just listening, but then he hears a name. 

More specifically, his name. 

And Connor’s. 

“What are you doing?” he says, as Arnold practically falls out of his seat. 

“What?” He stares back, eyes wide and almost panicked. Like a child being caught elbow-deep in the cookie jar. 

“What are you writing?” 

“Nothing,” Arnold feigns ignorance as Kevin makes for the laptop on his desk. 

“You were reading it out loud, let me see.” 

Arnold, despite himself, does not put up much of a fight, and Kevin is able to grab the computer with ease before he sits down on Arnold’s bed to read. He knows full well that Arnold often takes inspiration from reality, whether it be their mission in Uganda, his childhood, their lives in New York, and usually, he has no problem with that. Sure, he had a few qualms about Elder Nice, but they were mostly due to the actor portraying him. He didn’t mind Arnold telling their story, though, especially not if it’s a story people want to hear. However, this was different. As he’s skimming the paragraphs, he can’t help but notice a distinct resemblance to life as he knows it. Or rather, life as he knew it a couple of months ago. 

“What is this?” he says after a while, his brows furrowing in both confusion and curiosity. 

Arnold is still sporting the same caught-in-the-act expression he’d been when Kevin first entered his bedroom, and his brain seems to be stuck on pause as he stares, mouth ajar. “Uhhhhh.” 

Kevin turns his head back to the open document on Arnold’s laptop, rereading the words and the familiarity of his own name. “Did you write about...” he pauses briefly, as though not fully convinced his eyes aren’t deceiving him, “me and Connor?” 

Arnold gawks, either speechless or slightly too embarrassed to say anything at all. 

So Kevin, once again, turns his focus back to the screen, and with one brief glance to the top of the document, he notices a detail he hadn’t earlier. 

He notices the title. 

“ _A Pizza My Heart_ ,” he reads, eyes widened in disbelief as he stares back up at his best friend. Arnold’s eyes match his own, and for a while, they just sit there, gaping at each other before Kevin remembers how badly he needs an answer, an explanation. “What the hell, Arn. How did you know that, I haven’t told you yet.” 

He and Connor decided last night. He and Connor picked the name for their now-shared business and neither of them had told anyone. Still, Arnold what, guessed? That’s insane. That’s some black magic, voodoo shit he wants nothing to do with, but Arnold’s mouth only quirks into a smile as he shrugs sheepishly. 

“Writer’s intuition,” he says, and Kevin narrows his eyes. 

“That is literally the freakiest shit that’s ever happened to me, get out of my head, please,” he says with a surprised burst of a laugh as he pinches his own arm to make sure he’s actually awake. He is. “What is this anyway?” 

Arnold shrugs again. “Not sure,” he says. “I guess I wanted to do something a bit more grounded, you know? Something more realistic but still a comedy – you guys fit that bill pretty well.” 

Kevin cocks an eyebrow. “So, it’s a play?” 

“Maybe,” Arnold says. “But really, who knows.” 

“Why do you always have to base your characters on me?” Kevin says with a small groan, to which Arnold only smiles. 

“You’re easy to write,” he says with yet another shrug, and Kevin wants to point out that it is getting to be excessive. “Besides, the whole rivalry thing you guys were pushing at the beginning holds _so much_ potential. I couldn’t help myself.” 

Kevin gives him a bored look; they hadn’t been _pushing_ a rivalry, they had genuinely been rivals. They had hated each other’s guts, and sure, in hindsight, at least for Kevin’s part, the resentment had mostly been due to Connor looking the way he did and evoking certain feelings Kevin hadn’t fully known where to place. It could have all been gracefully avoided, had Kevin only been able to distinguish aversion from attraction. Had he only realized frustration could be sexual, but, oh well. It all, sort of, worked out in the end, so what’s the point of dwelling. 

He returns his focus to the computer resting in his lap, scrolling down the document until there’s nothing more to read, and he realizes it ends rather abruptly. It’s really not much of an ending at all, almost a cheap way of tying the story together without giving much of a clue whether things work out or not. Perhaps it’s due to Kevin being used to fairytale endings. The kind where happy ever afters exists and nothing is left open to interpretation. But here, there is no _and they lived happily ever after_ so really, how is Kevin to know they will? How is he supposed to put his trust and reliance and his entire fucking being in the hands of someone who doesn’t even believe in fairytales? 

“Is this the ending?” he asks in a desperate attempt to calm his nerves. 

“I don’t know,” Arnold says. “I feel like there might be more to the story but it can’t go on forever, so.” 

Kevin frowns. “Why not?” he says, eliciting a bemused chuckle from Arnold. 

“Because no one’s gonna watch an eight-hour play,” he smiles, and Kevin remembers _that’s_ what they’re talking about. A play. “But I don’t know, maybe there’s room for an epilogue of some kind?” 

“Are you telling me or asking me?” Kevin wonders and Arnold gives him a funny look. 

“Well, it’s your life, isn’t it?” 

It feels like irony, but Kevin can’t know for sure because he’s far too busy dealing with a shitload of confusion. Yes, it’s a play. Yes, it’s fiction. But it’s a play about Kevin’s relationship to Connor, and it feels more like an extension to reality than it does purely fictitious. 

“Is it?” he ends up asking, the question sounding amused despite the uncertainty he feels. “Because I feel like you know it a lot better than I do, if this is anything to go by.” He gestures to the screen in front of him with a lazy hand, and Arnold shrugs again. 

“I just write what I see,” he says as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Things I pick up on.” 

Kevin frowns, turning his focus back to the document, and he realizes when skimming the text that Arnold picks up on _a lot_. A lot more than Kevin does, anyway. From the way Connor used to look at him, scrutinizing and intrigued stares that grew fonder and fonder over time. Kevin didn’t think Connor paid him much attention at all before Kevin had given him no other option. Kevin never noticed wandering eyes or absentminded smiles. To the way Kevin clearly displayed more emotions than he ever realized he did. Whether he was fighting for Connor’s attention on a stage or berating him for going home with a stranger; had it been that obvious all along? Had they really been this predictable, that Arnold even managed to guess the name of their food truck? 

He shakes his head, trying to clear his mind from any doubt lingering in the back. It doesn’t matter. If they’re predictable, so be it. He’d rather live a foreseeable romance than a fickle fling. Despite what their relationship has been in the past, he’d rather get comfortably familiar than hanging by a loose thread. Adventures only go so far until things derail, and Kevin knows now he’d rather stay on track and know where he’s headed. As long as Connor is along for the ride, anyway. 

After sitting there in silence for a few moments, he looks back at Arnold with a small smile and big eyes. “So,” he starts, and Arnold tilts his head like a dog listening. “What happens next?” 

Arnold beams, and it’s wide and wild and familiar enough to make Kevin smile back. “Um, do you have forever? Because that’s how long it’s gonna take for me to tell you.” 

Kevin glances down on the clock in the corner of the screen. 1:39 pm, it reads. 

“We have twenty minutes before Connor and Naba get here with the moving van.” 

“Alright, then we might just make it to your thirties,” Arnold says. “Grab a seat.” 

“Already sitting.” 

“Right,” Arnold laughs. “Okay, so here’s what I see...” 

Kevin settles in, putting the laptop down on the bed as he scoots backward and leans against the wall. It’s silly, but he wants to know how his life turns out, even if it’s just speculations from a former compulsive liar and, if he’s being honest, a slightly unreliable narrator. It’s enough; it does the trick. Kevin could listen to Arnold theorize his future for hours on end, because at least this way, he knows he won’t be disappointed. Arnold wouldn’t picture his life any worse than Kevin’s own brain usually does, no. Arnold sees light in the darkest of shadows. Arnold can take all the negativity in a room and create a makeshift positive atmosphere. Hell, he can even turn La Croix into holy water. 

Kevin doesn’t want to liken him to Jesus, because even as an excommunicated member of the Church who not only lost his faith but also has complete doubt that God even exists, it still feels blasphemous. Yet, there is a similarity he can’t shake, and he realizes it isn’t so much that Arnold reminds him of Jesus but rather that the idea of Jesus, the idea of any prophet in any religion, reminds him of Arnold. 

It makes him smile, and he closes his eyes as he listens to Arnold’s words, trying to picture them coming to life in his mind. 

“...You live in a small one-bedroom in the Village. Connor does the play for however long it runs while you work the truck, and on his free days, he’ll help out or you’ll take a day off and spend it together. Once the play closes, Connor comes back to work with you until he gets his next acting gig – which won’t be too long because as long as I write screenplays, he’s got a role – and it goes like that for a while. 

“On your one-year anniversary, you go on a trip. I don’t know where exactly, but in my mind, I see Europe. Possibly France, and you spend a few days strolling around, eating croissants, and if you’re lucky, visiting Disneyland Paris. Connor gets you matching Mickey ears, and when you tell him he’s being sappy, he’ll smile because believe it or not, a lot of those musicals he’s obsessed with are just as corny as Disney movies. You’re both nerds who love love despite being so utterly blind to it. You kiss under the fireworks, and it won’t be magic but it’ll be right. It’ll be real. 

“You’re both best men at mine and Naba’s wedding. You’ll obviously be mine, and Connor Naba’s. Connor tries to make _Man of Honor_ happen, and Naba responds with an appropriate Mean Girls quote that will fly right over our heads. Both of you hold a toast, Connor’s gets a bigger reaction than yours – because he’s an _actor_ , Kev, he knows how to move a crowd, shut up – but yours ends with that one line that sticks in people’s heads, whether they realize it or not. You’ll slow dance to every wedding playlist’s must – Elvis’s _Can’t Help Falling in Love_ , and Naba will complain about you two stealing the spotlight, but she’ll let you. For one song, and then I’m pretty sure she’ll kick you off the dance-floor. 

“Naba and I move to a bigger place, maybe in the suburbs. Someplace with a garden, maybe even a picket fence, who knows? That seen-on-tv American dream kinda place, and we’ll resent our neighbors just like everyone does but when we eventually have kids the same age as the couple to our left, we’ll realize through multiple playdates that they’re not quite as bad as we’d assumed – because you’ll be that kid’s uncle, Kev, of course it’s relevant, stop interrupting me. 

“You and Connor save up and plan to move to a bigger apartment too, but it takes years because you can never agree on what part of the city you want to live in. Connor’s parents will come up to see him act, and you talk him into inviting them over for dinner, which goes better than either of you expected, and it gives you the courage to call up your own folks to see if they wanna come visit. They agree, but the next day, your grandma calls and cusses you out for not inviting her as well, so you and Connor decide to go to Salt Lake instead. You show him all the places you used to go as a kid, all the places and memories that shaped you, and you’ll finally get to remember that despite everything you were told – and everything you forced yourself to believe – there has never been anything wrong with you, now or then. You never let anyone down, least of all yourself. The expectations you held for yourself were higher than the moon, and not reaching them doesn’t mean you failed, it just means you got realistic. You’ll finally learn not to sell yourself so goddamn short. 

“Connor absolutely charms your parents, and your grandma pulls you aside after dinner one night and tells you how proud she is of your courage to be yourself, and that she’s glad you’ve found someone who loves you because of it, not in spite of it. You’ll probably cry, because let’s be honest, you’re the biggest sap there ever was, but they’ll be happy tears, and Connor will hold you till you fall asleep. 

“And eventually, who knows how many years down the line – I’d say three, but what do I know, I’m not God – Connor proposes, and it’s just as cringy and corny as you’d expect, but that’s honestly on you for always complaining about not being sufficiently wooed. You will definitely eat those words whenever the time comes.” 

Kevin opens his eyes again and is met by two glistening brown ones staring back at him with a smile. “Connor will propose?” he asks, not quite able to hide the way his mouth quirks upward. 

“Yeah.” 

“Why won’t I?” 

Arnold’s brows furrow for a moment. “I don’t know,” he says. “I guess in my mind, I always pictured him being the one to do it.” 

Kevin hums, his eyes going out of focus as he allows himself to imagine. “When?” 

Arnold chuckles. “These aren’t facts, Kevin,” he says, picking the laptop up from the bed and setting it down on his desk again. “I’m just a storyteller, I make things up. You decide what actually happens. Well, you _and_ Connor, but you know what I mean. If you wanna propose, you should go for it.” 

He gives Kevin’s foot a nudge with his knee, and Kevin considers it for a second. Considers how and when and where he would do it. Imagines Connor’s face and the things he’d say, the way he’d throw his arms around Kevin’s neck and kiss him breathless. It’s a nice thought, a daydream he’d gladly entertain, but for the time being, he lets it go. He shouldn’t jump the shark; he should savor every moment for as long as he can. 

Before he can respond, the doorbell rings and Kevin snaps back from his thoughts. 

Arnold smiles when he turns to meet his eyes, and Kevin gets the feeling he knows more than he’s letting on. “Your future’s waiting,” he says, and Kevin is on his feet in a flash. 

He turns back right as he’s about to walk through the door. “Thank you,” he says, and Arnold shrugs. Again. 

“It’s what I'm here for.” 

Kevin shakes his head with a small laugh. “It’s not, but I really do appreciate it,” he says. “I’m here for you, too, you know.” 

Arnold nods, and when Kevin turns back around, Naba zooms past him and into Arnold’s room. And standing in the hallway, looking equal parts nervous and longing with rosy cheeks and hopeful eyes, is Connor. Kevin smiles without hesitation. 

“You all packed?” Connor asks, and Kevin gestures to the myriad of boxes filling the space. Connor laughs. “I take that as a yes.” 

And then Kevin kisses him because it’s all happening and he can’t believe it. 

They unload Naba’s share of boxes from the van and replaces them with Kevin’s. It takes quite a while, and a lot of manpower – which Naba points out is sheer hypocrisy since she’s the one doing most of the work – and once they’re finished, Arnold and Naba wave them off, and it’s stupid but they all shed at least a few tears. Despite having dinner plans together. In, like, four hours – it's emotional, let them have this. 

It’s nearly three-thirty when Connor unlocks the door to their new apartment, and it’s small, and cramped, and absolutely wonderful. It’s theirs, that’s more than enough. 

“So, I guess this is it,” Connor says, looking around for a moment before turning back to Kevin. “This is our life now, huh?” 

Kevin only smiles, suddenly overcome with the urge to bury his face in the crook of Connor’s neck, wrap his arms around his body, and never let go. He doesn’t. Instead, he takes a step closer, catches Connor’s hand in his own, and interlocks their fingers. 

“You sure you’re ready for it?” 

Kevin laughs through his nose and pulls Connor even closer. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he says, noticing a faint crease in Connor’s forehead that he nearly reaches up to smooth out with his thumb. “But I don’t think I'll ever be ready for this.” 

Connor doesn’t answer. He tilts his head back ever so slightly, causing his chin to stick out just a little in what is doubtlessly a subconscious pout, but a cute one, nonetheless. Kevin captures his lips in a gentle kiss, moving slowly but with great care; savoring, for as long as he possibly can. 

As he pulls away, he whispers, “Doesn’t mean I want it any less,” against Connor’s lips, and he can feel him smile then, and before he knows it, they’re kissing again. 

And again and again and again until they run out of breath, and suddenly, they’re late for dinner and every box remains unpacked but it doesn’t matter. In the end, Kevin knows this is only the beginning. Never mind the oxymoron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In short, Arnold ghostwrote this.
> 
> This was the hardest chapter to write, I kid you not. Not only did I get a very persistent bout of writer's block, but I also get really bad separation anxiety and in case you were wondering, yes, it apparently extends to fics, too. I swear to god, this fic is my recently-turned eighteen-year-old who just left for college and I'm the mom who spends the entire car ride back crying. I cannot begin to express my gratitude for every single person who's been reading and commenting and generally giving me the motivation to actually finish something for once. I hope you've enjoyed the ride as much as I have, and I hope the end didn't feel too corny and sentimental, I got carried away and I'm sad, lmao, let me have this.
> 
> And sorry for not responding to the comments on the last chapters, I usually get really overwhelmed whenever people are nice to me - which is definitely a sign of mental stability, right - but it took my brain way longer to settle this time, which might in part be due to my anxiety getting worse over the past few weeks. If I get to it, I'll get to it. And if I don't, I'm sorry. I'll make sure to answer every comment on this chap instead.
> 
> ALSO, my guy @helloo  
> [](https://ibb.co/TBzd7c7)  
> HOW THE FUCK DID YOU READ MY MIND LIKE THAT, it's been the plan from the very beginning, and just HOW ashjfbnksjf, am I that predictable lmao (all kudos to you though, I literally cackled when first reading that comment)
> 
> This chap isn't as littered with musical reference - although there are a few, I'm still me - but I sprinkled in a SHIT TON of references to previous chapters because, I don't know, it's the end and I'm sad and I wanted to revisit some of the older scenes and asghklkfn, okay, this is a lot for me, have mercy.
> 
> ANYWAY, I'm being melodramatic, thank you to everyone reading this. It means a whole lot more than you might know. If anyone wants to talk/rant/obsess over book of mormon or just like, musicals in general, I'm over at tumblr @sprinkleofharries ! Hit me up, some folks would say I'm pretty nice. 
> 
> It's me. I'm some folks.
> 
> I'm also sure you've noticed it says there'll be another chapter, and it isn't a mistake. Arnold may or may not have been onto something. We'll see.


	13. Epilogue

#### 

Epilogue

_A Pizza My Heart_  
_January 19th, 2024_  
_7:48pm_

Well, the situation’s this, it’s been three and a half years since they started dating, one thousand two hundred and sixty days – not that Kevin’s counting – and they’re still going strong. They’ve been together for forty months, or forty-one if you ask Connor but he’s wrong, and everything has been alright. It’s been hot and sweet and caring and everything he’s always wanted, everything he never knew he could get from anyone, let alone Connor McKinley. And sure, it’s been awfully trying at times, times when Kevin has wanted nothing more than to slam a door in his face and scream into the abyss, but since Arnold and Naba introduced the concept of communicating to them, they’ve been able to work things out between themselves. They’ve been able to grow, both as a couple and individually. Hell, they might have even matured with the years. They’re both over thirty now, but Kevin doesn’t think about that or he’ll have a quarter-to-mid-life-crisis and that usually never ends well. 

But here they are, three and half years in the making and still enjoying each other’s company, even if that fire, that thrill of first love has faded slightly, it’s only grown into a kindled fire, keeping them warm during the winter, lighting the darker days enough to make them bearable. Connor leaves him handwritten notes in his pockets that never fails to brighten his day; Kevin buys him roses for every opening night, every anniversary, every day he feels like entertaining that hopelessly romantic part of his brain. 

Love might not have turned out to be exactly what he’d assumed, but it isn’t bad by any means. It isn’t boring, it isn’t draining, it isn’t anything crazy, really. But it’s kind, and understanding, and worth every last second. Kevin doesn’t regret a thing, and it’s days like this, when he gets to hold Connor’s hand at his favorite place in the whole wide world, that he kind of, sort of, almost believes there must be something that’s making it happen. It might not be God, or fate, or who knows what, but he feels so incredibly lucky that chalking it all up to coincidence just doesn’t make any sense. 

They’ve been together for forty months, and yes, in those months, Connor has made Kevin watch Falsettos at least a million stories- _times_ , goddammit, Connor. 

It’s nearing eight when Kevin is snapped out of his thoughts, and coming back to find Connor on the small stage of the hotel’s restaurant where you’d normally see a band, or like, one person playing the piano like in La La Land, is not exactly the scene he’d expected. 

“What’s he doing?” he says, unable to tear his eyes away but he hopes his friends understand he’s asking them and not the air. 

“Ummm, I don’t know,” comes Arnold’s answer, no, wait – comes Arnold’s lie, because that man has the most active imagination you can imagine – which, of course, you can’t – and the undeniably impressive ability to lie convincingly to anyone. Anyone but Kevin Price, that is. 

“That’s obviously bullshit, what’s he doing, why’s he on a stage, why is he looking at me, what do I do-” 

“Kevin,” Naba says, a small laugh following as she puts a calming hand on his arm, and Kevin manages to give her a hesitant glance. “I think he’s about to tell you, alright? I think he’s about to tell everyone.” 

Kevin turns his head back to his boyfriend, fiddling with the microphone wire which lets Kevin know he’s nervous. Why’s he _nervous_? 

Connor clears his throat. “Um, hello,” he says, so adorably awkward that it’s difficult not to laugh. “I’m not gonna be long, I swear, please bear with me.” 

_Oooohhhnooooo_ , Kevin can feel his heartbeat racing. What is he doing, he isn’t- no, he can’t be. Can he? 

“If he starts singing, I swear to god,” he breathes, hearing his friends laugh beside him but thankfully, it seems Connor hadn’t heard. 

“Kevin, I-don’t-know-your-middle-name, Price,” he says and suddenly the entire room is looking directly at him and Kevin’s cheeks go doubtlessly pink. “When I first met you, I wanted to punch you.” 

_Laughter_ , as if there are fucking cue cards. 

“I'm not a violent person but every time you were near me, I really wanted to break your face, you know what I mean? I just wanted to break that stupidly perfect jawline and bash your ridiculously white teeth in but, um. Look I'm not good with words, that’s Arnold’s thing, and he refused to help me write this so, sorry people, this might be a rollercoaster,” he pauses, “which is funny because we’re at Disney World, _yay_.” 

Oh. So that’s the bar he’s setting. This isn’t going to a be a rollercoaster, Kevin is sure. It’s going to be a fucking train wreck. 

Kevin is still watching in some weird mix of horror and awe and confusion that he isn’t sure what expression he’s giving but at least it seems to be making Connor smile so he doesn’t change it. He just can’t believe this is happening – isn't one hundred percent sure of _what’s_ happening, to be fair, but he is a hopeless romantic after all. He is a Disney fanatic and absolutely in love with the concept of love, and Jesus Christ, if he isn’t in love with Connor, too. 

“I wanted to kill you,” Connor continues and Kevin unironically swoons. That’s healthy. “Until we had sex – wait, that sounds crass. I used to want to kill you _after_ we started having sex too, it really didn’t help that much, and I mean, there are times that I still want to throw you out the window – because we live on the first floor and it would be purely symbolic – but most of the time, I can’t get you out of my head. And I don’t want you out of my head, I don’t want you out of my life. So.” 

Kevin holds his breath as Connor grabs the mic from the stand, holding it in his hand instead and moving to a lower position just as Arnold leans over and whispers, “This is how you make a marriage proposal,” to Kevin and his heart is pounding and his hands are sweating and Connor is looking at him with so much _love_ that it shouldn’t be real. He has to pinch himself just to make sure. 

“I know you love Disney, which is why I'm gonna get down on _dis knee_ ,” he says while gesturing to the leg he’s kneeling on. “Please laugh.” 

Kevin leans forward on his elbows, covering the bottom half of his face with his hands as people chuckle at Connor’s attempt at a joke. Oh, they don’t know what they’re in for. These poor people have no goddamn idea of what’s to come. 

“And as you know, I'm not that big a fan of Disney – I know, people, let me live, please – and I know you absolutely despise my puns, so I thought the perfect compromise would be to make us both miserable,” Connor says, his eyes still glued to Kevin and his smile stretching from ear to ear, and even though Kevin can tell he’s still nervous, he realizes it’s probably not because of the stage or the audience, but because he’s asking Kevin to marry him, and apparently, he’s dumb enough to believe that question has any other answer than yes. “Every time you look at me, I feel like the Belle of the ball.” 

_Oh dear god._

Connor laughs at the way Kevin twists his face. “It’s only gonna get worse, you know that, right?” he says, enjoying it far too much. “From the first moment I saw you, I was hooked, and I knew there was no one Elsa’d rather be tangled with. You’re the only bare necessity I need.” 

Kevin covers his entire face at that, feeling the heat in his cheeks spreading rapidly as he glances back up and meets Connor’s eyes. He knows he doesn’t need to say it, but he tries his very best to convey his gratitude and his love and his _total and utter embarrassment_ through one simple look. 

“You have this huge, kinda obnoxious aura around you but I don’t think it matters, because Aurora – that one’s a stretch, I know – is so much better, and you make me so happy, and dopey, and... bashful.” Connor almost breaks then, struggling to hold his own laugh in and Kevin suddenly remembers they are in a room full of strangers who, for some inane reason, are laughing along. Despite not having any context whatsoever; despite Connor starting this entire thing with _I used to want to punch you_. “I’m just so glad that I get to hold your hans, and kiss your scars, and I know it’s goofy, but I've been walting for you my entire life.” 

He’s shaking his head. He doesn’t know why, but he’s shaking his head, probably out of disbelief that this man, _this man_ , is proposing to him in the most absurd way possible and yet he’s happier than he’s ever been, yet he can’t keep his smile from growing so big it hurts. He wants to laugh and cry and scream and dance, all at once, _god_ , this is ludicrous. 

“I probably should say, just so people understand, that this man,” Connor points to Kevin, “this man truly is the biggest Disney nerd you’ll ever meet, I swear, your kids have nothing on him, he dreams in Mickey Mouse, and um, we actually went to Disneyland Paris two years ago,” Connor says and god forbid if he’s ramping up to another joke. “The Pix-are awesome, no, really, they are. I even ordered a few physical copies, you know, like you do, and I know it’s been, well, two years, but I'm sure someday, my prints will come.” 

Okay, now it’s just turning into a full standup routine. 

“But on a serious note, Kevin, I love you, I really do. I’ve always self-destructed whenever someone got too close, I've run away when things got real but it’s different with you,” he says, his expression turning somber as he meets Kevin’s gaze again, his eyes so sincere and his heart so open. “You make me want to not Wreck-It,” _cue unnecessary pause_ , “Ralph.” 

It’s so terrible, it’s so completely and utterly nonsensical and Kevin hates it, hates it more than he’s ever hated anything. Still, he’s smiling, because they’re both idiots. 

More importantly, they’re both idiots in love. 

“You make me not wanna bolt when things get hard,” he smiles, softer this time. “It sure is a small world, but somehow it’s big enough for your ego, and I hope that, at the end of the day, there’s some enchanted tiki room for me too.” 

Kevin only nods, being rendered completely speechless. Not that he’s had any opportunity to chime in, really, anyway. 

“I can’t give you the fairytale ending you not only want, but deserve too,” he says, making Kevin’s heart burst just a little in his chest. “But I can give you a happy one.” 

The room wasn’t as susceptible to that, possibly because a happy ending can have very different meanings depending on how innocent one’s thought process is. Kevin wants to believe Connor genuinely means a happy ending as in the closest thing to a happy ever after they would ever get, but he has a feeling Connor also intended the innuendo that is hanging quite awkwardly in the air. 

He clears his throat again, shifting from one knee to the other and Kevin realizes he’s been standing like that for minutes on end, probably losing feeling in his legs and all for Kevin’s sake. All so he can give Kevin the thing he’s always wanted, what a fucking idiot. What a beautiful fucking idiot he is. 

He subconsciously sinks down in his seat, at first afraid he’s actually melting, but realizing quickly that he’s just blushing so hard that his body is trying to sink through the floor. 

“I’m just a boy, kneeling in front of a room full of people who probably want this to end so they can go back to having a normal dinner, and I know you’re acting like you do too, but don’t lie, you fucking love this,” Connor laughs and the sound is more beautiful to Kevin than any symphony ever written. “The big, romantic gesture thing is your weak spot and I'm taking full advantage of it.” 

And then Kevin suddenly utters a quiet, _“Oh my god,”_ because Connor has that look in his eyes, that look he had after spending his first night at Kevin’s apartment, that look he had when he showed Kevin his favorite spot in Miami, that look he had when Kevin told him he loved him for the first time, and that look he’d had when they unlocked the door to their first apartment. He doesn’t know how to brace himself for what he knows is going to happen. He isn’t sure he won’t cry and even though that’s the last thing he wants to do in front of a room full of strangers, he can’t move. And he doesn’t want to, either, no. He wants to drink this moment in, live in it forever, and cherish the memory when eventually, the magic wears just a little thin. He’ll never forget – or forgive, really, because this is _too much_ and he loves it hates it all the same – this ever, he probably couldn’t even if he so wanted. 

“I never wished upon a star, Kevin, and yet I am the luckiest man on earth,” Connor says, and the room has the audacity to _aww_. This isn’t a rom-com, this isn’t a Nicholas Sparks novel, this is real life and Kevin wants to remember it as such, even with all the awkwardness and flushed cheeks. Even with Connor struggling to keep his balance. Even with Arnold and Naba smiling like idiots beside him. He wants to remember it for every little thing that it is – the jokes, the laughs, the feelings. It is everything he loves about Connor wrapped up in one perfectly clichéd moment. “Will you fucking marry me?” 

Kevin presses his lips together, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from falling, and he has so many things to say that he ends up saying nothing at all. 

“Yeah, silence isn’t an option, babe. There really are just the two – yes or no,” Connor says, a small laugh leaving his lips that sounds so adorably nervous – again, as if he thinks Kevin has any reason to say no. “Please don’t tell me you’re gonna turn me down in front of all these people who probably already think I'm crazy.” 

The room chuckles again and then falls silent for just long enough for Kevin’s, “I love you,” to make it to the stage, and Connor laughs quietly, briefly looking down at the floor before coming back up to meet Kevin’s gaze. And then Kevin sees that mischievous glint in his eyes that is probably the reason he fell so hard in the first place. 

“Still not an answer, Price.” 

Kevin shakes his head, trying to kickstart his brain as best he can. “Yes,” he manages after a while, his hand reflexively flying up to cover his mouth again even though he’s still blurting words while Connor puts the mic back and gets off the stage. “Okay? Yes, of course, yes. God, you’re so-” 

He’s standing now. When did he stand? Connor is cupping his face in his hands and catching the stray tears that Kevin just can’t keep back, and he kisses him so sweetly that it makes cotton candy seem bland. There aren’t any fireworks, there aren’t any cheers. There are quiet conversations and the faint sound of a piano beginning to play. There is Connor and there is Kevin, and it still feels life-changing in ways he can’t explain. 

This is it; this is his happy ending. And flawed as it may be, Kevin wouldn’t change a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is 100% self-indulgent, sue me
> 
> I'm sorry this got SO sappy, that wasn't the initial point but dear god, I'm in a mood today apparently. I also wasn't planning on writing this today, especially since I have to finish another fic before Monday - cue me panicking - but this just, came to me. And it's really short. And I already had 96% of the dialogue which honestly, is most of the entire chapter lmao.
> 
> This was never going to be a long chapter, though, and I hope neither the length nor the ridiculousness was too disappointing. But okay listen, you can't tell me Connor wouldn't do this because he thinks it's the kind of thing Kevin wants - which he sorta does, ngl - even though he'd be over the moon if Connor asked him at home, at work, while grocery shopping, during sex, in the shower, in his sleep, literally anyway, anywhere. He'd try to make a grand gesture and in this house, Connor has an unhealthy relationship with puns, we all know this by now. 
> 
> Which btw, I counted 20 puns/references (I think), d'ya catch them all? 
> 
> I also think it's worth mentioning that when I proofread this, I noticed I had written Will Sparks instead of Nicholas Sparks and I was like, that's not right, so I had to google it and would you guess, Will Sparks is a fucking Australian dj lmao, that might have given the sentence a very different significance, jesus christ
> 
> Thank you so incredibly much to anyone who's read this story, whether you've stuck with it from start to finish, or read it all in one sitting, or only read one chapter and thought 'nope, not my thing', it's all worth gold to me. Every hit a fic gets is like a shot of dopamine. Every kudos is the same but tenfold. Every comment has me straight up tripping. It's unhealthy, I'm working on not caring so much BUT, in the meantime, I thought I'd let you know how much it means. Bless every single one of y'all <3 
> 
> And without any context, here are a bunch of things Connor has said throughout that I couldn't fit in anywhere:
> 
>   1. “Arnold would have laughed,” 
>   2. “Lettuce begin,” “I can feel it from my head to-ma-toes,” “I don’t carrot all,” “Oh, come on, that’s hilarious!”  
>  _See also:_ "Can it,"
>   3. “Someone’s being a gloomy… aspara-gus,” (“Shut up, Connor.”) 
>   4. “Seems like you’re stuck between a rock and a hard… place,” (“What?”) “You have a boner,” (“I’m aware, thanks,”) … “Boner? I don’t even know her-“ (“And just like that, it’s gone.”) 
>   5. “That must be so heavy,” (“What?”) “Carrying around that chip on your shoulder all the time,” 
> 

> 
> Stay safe and that's it, thanks for coming to my ted talk.


End file.
